


to the skies

by purpleshell



Series: sing, o muse, of celestial souls torn with love [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Desert Outlaw Mark Lee, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Power Bottom Lee Donghyuck | Haechan, Praise Kink, Prince Lee Donghyuck | Haechan, Rimming, Spit As Lube, as the story progresses, medieval setting, please read the notes before diving into the story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27198514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleshell/pseuds/purpleshell
Summary: Mark never doubted his faith, not until the day he decided to kill Donghyuck’s father by raiding his camp and learning that some gods truly did walk the earth, dressed in nice silk, pretending to be princes, with eyes dark like coal between his legs.Ever since then, Mark discovered it was harder to pray with each crescent moon, when the stars mocked him from above hostile kingdoms. Harder to pray when he had Donghyuck in his mind to worship.//or: two months after he'd allowed prince donghyuck to escape his camp, mark learns that they were to meet again, only this time the prince is the one to seek him as the golden crown slips from his hands
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Series: sing, o muse, of celestial souls torn with love [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1985536
Comments: 43
Kudos: 211





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> okay so something i hoped could pass as a one-shot ended up being an entire universe with battles, gods and markhyuck hopelessly in love. as this is continued from my previous fic 'swear not by the moon', that one kind of has to be read before this one, but only so that some parts could be more clear. also, please keep in mind that this fic contains medieval style battles and ancient religions, so violent scenes and blood offerings will be mentioned! i don't describe it explicitly, but please beware if those scenes make you uncomfortable.  
> and, of course, huge thanks to S for his endless support! <3  
> happy reading!

It has been exactly a month and ten days since Donghyuck brought Mark to his knees, made him kiss his ring and swear an oath in the first rays of a newborn day. More than a month from their first and only meeting after Mark had allowed Jeno to escort Donghyuck and his servant to the edge of the desert where he saw them no more. Too many days and not a word from the crown prince.

An eternity from Donghyuck’s lips on his, warm hands in the most sacred of places, teeth biting down, tears running in divine pleasure.

And now Mark burned under his skin, aching for Donghyuck. He spent his days aimlessly walking around the camp, trying to avoid curious gazes of his men who, according to Jeno, seemed to have noticed something was off. The order for them to move their camp to the very edge of the desert, where gold grains molded into flickering dust and gray mountains guarded Donghyuck’s kingdom from savage tribes, raised questions, but nothing which brought concern to Mark. Donghyuck was right when he said his men would follow him anywhere, yet Mark couldn’t help the guilt from feeding on his insides when his generals demanded to sack the villages by the border and he could do nothing but lie through his teeth.

As the red moon rose above the mountains, Mark’s excuses ran thin – they don’t have enough supplies at the moment ( _that’s what raids are for_!), the men are tired ( _they’ve been resting for nearly a month, they’re idling_!), the terrain is ungrateful ( _then what the hell are we here for_!). 

Mark glared at Yuta who was on his feet, grabbing the attention of everyone sitting on the ground. Frightened glances jumped between the two, their fearless Lion and his forever impatient general, who made sure to let his voice be heard, even if that often meant questioning Mark’s authority. These outbursts never seemed to bother Mark since, deep down, he knew how to appreciate the tiny spark of revolt Yuta nurtured inside of himself, something that put him first in line when Mark signed for battle. Something that caused him to push his commander over the edge whenever he felt Mark falter underneath the burning sky. That _something_ all before Donghyuck walked into Mark’s life like a sand storm. The prince was merciless, leaving him blind to any reason.

Now, the tension between the two outlaws was clear from the way Mark’s hands clenched into fists on his knees, the crease between his eyebrows deepening with every word Yuta dared to utter. But nothing could prepare him for the gut-wrenching feeling when Yuta stopped suddenly in the middle of his sermon, the gleam in his eyes unmistakable right before his mouth twisted into a menacing grin.

“Does this have to do with the kid we captured before? Donghyuck was his name?”

At the mention of the prince, the tent rapidly fell into eager chatter, some men excitedly exchanging the name among them, while others looked at Mark curiously, as to hear what happened to the prince who went missing weeks and weeks ago. To Mark, it felt like that night in Donghyuck’s chambers, when death loomed on his neck, its grip tightening with every careless step he took. Only this time, he didn’t have a cowering prince before him, brighter than the rosy-fingered Dawn, but bloodlust men who’d take his head if they knew he released Donghyuck willingly and traded their freedom for tentative affection.

“We could have kept him as a hostage, yet _you_ let him escape into this wilderness where vultures now feed on the gold we were supposed to get,” Yuta continued, his words pushing Mark’s mind into a spiral of lunacy, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. His men’s chatter grew louder at that, some nodding in approval at Yuta’s words.

Before Mark could dignify them with a response, Jeno pointed an accusing finger at Yuta, who only crossed his arms when he noticed the young warrior staring him down.

“Weren’t your men supposed to guard him? The night he disappeared you were walking around, handing out orders to those who stayed up to watch his tent,” Jeno said, provoking a series of reactions from the rest. A few of Yuta’s men, who sat by his side, flinched at those words, lowering their eyes to the ground.

It was the truth, what Jeno had said. Mark knew that well, since he carried the burden of organizing Donghyuck’s and Renjun’s escape from the heart of his campground. Though he devised the plan, in his mind there was only Donghyuck gripping his arm as he fought the desert coldness, shivering in his cloak while he called for Renjun, placing his lips on Mark’s cheek, whispering that he will find him again, that he didn’t know how freezing the nights were here because he had Mark to set his body aflame each time dusk fell over them.

Those words still echoed each time the moon gleamed above their camp, brilliant as the jewels Donghyuck would ornate himself with as Mark took him wholly, enamored with the way Donghyuck’s skin glowed brighter than the emeralds around his neck. The feeling kept him wide awake night after night, the urge present even when Mark would chase release in the stillness of the dark.

He’d remember how Donghyuck’s thin fingers felt around his neck, those pretty hands in lace gloves, stealing the breath from him. Then, gently, he’d run his fingers through Mark’s sweaty hair and kiss his lips with praise.

_“You were so good, Mark, so good for me.”_

It took Jeno jumping from his seat, hand on his knife and aimed at Yuta, for Mark to finally snap.

“Enough!” Mark shouted, making everyone still. Jeno and Yuta had no intention of going back to their seats, their bodies still tense from the previous argument.

“Who are you to question my decisions? All of you!” he spat, fury growing inside of him. Once more, his previous authority, untamed without Donghyuck’s presence, unfastened like a summer storm. His fingers twitched around his scimitar instinctively.

Sensing the danger, his men fell back into silence. They avoided meeting his eyes, clouded with rage.

“From now on if I see anyone try to draw blood from their comrade, you’ll be banished to lands no man has stepped on. And then, you’ll wish vultures found you before I did again. Is that understood?” Mark looked at Yuta pointedly, the general frowning at those words.

“Very well,” Yuta said after a moment of silence. He put away his blade. “I’m giving you seven days to show us the whole point of this, Mark Lee. If not, I promise you there won’t be any need for you to banish us - my men will be more than willing to leave themselves. After all, the desert may be endless, but your rule isn’t.”

With those words, he stormed out, three of his companions following him close. The heavy curtain fell back, drawing the room in dim light. Somewhere outside, a chatter of passing soldiers could be heard, metal weapons clinking one against another in practice. A heavy gust of wind shook the tent for a split moment before everything fell into stillness. It felt almost like they were back in the desert, away from cunning royals and their enthralling eyes.

With one last glance at his band of outlaws, Mark raised his hand in some half-gesture, like he was ready to give them another lecture, but instead it fell back on his lap along with his gaze.

“You’re dismissed.”

Sound of wool rustling, feet thudding against the soil, someone clearing their throat and then nothing. Defeated, Mark’s head fell in his hands, a shaky breath running a tremor through his entire body. It nearly reminded him of the way he’d tremble in Donghyuck’s arms, the prince testing his body’s limits with his unquenchable passion. He’d bring Mark to the verge of collapsing, just to pull him back with nothing more than his fingers down the back of Mark’s neck. Even now, miles and days away, Mark can feel Donghyuck’s warm breath on his lips, kissing away any complaint he might have had.

This way, Mark could easily imagine slipping away into madness. He managed to find Donghyuck even in the breaths he took, something Donghyuck would capture from him with a mere kiss.

“You alright?”

A familiar voice, somewhere inside the room, made Mark lift his head from where it rested in his hands. There, where the furthest of the empty pillows lay, stood Johnny, leaning on his spear for support. He was giving Mark a somewhat of unimpressed glare when his commander nodded a disheveled head in response.

“You don’t look so,” Johnny said. “How about you let me deal with shifts later and you take the night off.”

“I appreciate the concern, but no. I’m fine.”

With a tired smile, Mark hoped it would make his second in command leave who, placed by the entrance, seemed like he faded into the weak light peeking in, flickering dust and black drapes. Even his voice sounded as if it came from a bottomless pit, murky and suffocating to Mark’s ears.

“Don’t worry about Yuta,” Johnny tried again, “you know how he is sometimes.”

“He is not the one I’m worried about.”

“What is it then?”

_Donghyuck’s thighs felt like they were made of honey, Mark’s fingers digging into honeycombs, sweat glistening down his palms, sweet like sugar. His skin smelled like jasmine, pearly drops of cum on Mark’s fingers brilliant in the moonlight._

_“Tell me, my dear, what is it like to fuck the king?”_

“Heavenly.”

“What?”

“Me,” Mark answered honestly, making Johnny frown, “it is me who I am worried about.”

“Take the night off, Mark. I’ll set the watch for tonight,” Johnny said, turning to leave with one last glance at his commander, eyes blank, far far away.

As daylight, away from the hot sand, brought petty arguments and pretend warfare preparations, nights belonged to the same sense of mystery that the desert did. Although the skies here were unmatched to those above Mark’s realm, the stars that belonged to Donghyuck overwhelmed Mark in its harmony. Where Mark’s heavens were romantic, endless, galaxies over the mountains awed in their greatness, bright with no moon to outshine them in this evening.

On his knees, Mark stared through the opening on his tent, made particularly for occasions like this. His open palms, stained in red, rested on his lap. Admiring the night sky, Mark prayed.

Everything, from the gold coins coated with wine to his adorned dagger, rested on the makeshift altar, brought up in the honor of the gods that have followed Mark from the beginning of his journey. He never doubted his faith, not until the day he decided to kill Donghyuck’s father by raiding his camp and learning that some other gods truly did walk the earth, dressed in nice silk, pretending to be princes, with eyes dark like coals between Mark’s legs.

Ever since then, Mark discovered it was harder to pray with each crescent moon, when the stars mocked him from above hostile kingdoms. Harder to pray when he had Donghyuck in his mind to worship.

Groaning in desperation, Mark untied the belt that held his tunic together, allowing cool air to hit his heated skin. Another groan fell from his lips when he gripped his cock with shaking hands, imagining Donghyuck on his back, dressed in nothing, Mark’s title like a broken mantra on his tongue.

To Mark, those tiny whimpers from Donghyuck echoed like a prayer, wanting to put himself on his knees for Donghyuck and him only. To draw bruises on flushed skin and kiss down his chest. To slowly ease himself inside Donghyuck until he had him in tears, begging Mark to touch him down there because Mark was so good to him, _will you be good for me Mark_.

With a choked sob, Mark came all over his hand, bending before the altar until his forehead had touched the ground, soaked in tears and wine, red, red, red.

“Isn’t today supposed to be your night off?”

Mark didn’t have to turn to know it was Jeno who’d approached him slowly, but not silent enough when the earth beneath their feet echoed with every step they took. The camp behind Mark had sated with the last rays of light, only a few of the soldiers making their presence known with drunken whistles and their cloaks fluttering in the wind.

Mark tightened his own cloak when another gush of cold air passed him, pushing down his hood, coloring the tips of his ears pink. It spoke of upcoming autumn, colder nights, and preparations of supplies for merciless nature, yet Mark couldn’t focus on either. He never had met this massive chain of mountains before him like this, up-close, their starkness and death threatening on every wrong step one may take. Sometimes, on the nights he’d manage to fall asleep, he’d hear Donghyuck’s voice calling him from the abyss.

“Do you think he’s somewhere out there?

Jeno followed his gaze towards the mountains where nothing but cruel wilderness ruled. Unlike now, the day he walked the crown prince and his servant to their escape there were no specks of white dust on the peaks.

“Mark,” Jeno said carefully, observing his commander’s features that showed nothing but grief behind his usual warrior mask.

“You need to tell them they have a king they fight for now.”

Mark scoffed. “Like they would ever agree to that.”

“They’re mercenaries; they’ll fight for anyone if you pay them in gold.”

Mark’s expression froze, his eyebrows raised and Jeno saw a glimpse of hope in his eyes for a moment, until it vanished in the way Mark’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

“They won’t be free anymore,” he said after a short pause, making Jeno snicker.

“Are they free now when they have to bow their heads in front of you?”

Jeno spoke the truth, but the incident from their meeting showed him how even his authority could falter at the bare mention of the prince’s name. Mark felt himself shake his head.

“It’s one thing to fight for a free man and another for a king. We aren’t exactly chivalrous, are we?”

“I think I’d look pretty good in metal armor as I woo all the court ladies,” Jeno shrugged, drawing the first laugh from Mark in days. It echoed far away into the distance.

“Whatever it is, you have seven days to figure it out. You know Yuta’s men like to take their enemy’s head as trophies and mine is too pretty to be on a pike.”

Luckily for Mark, the solution came not even four days after.

Their morning began as usual – men checking their weapons, hunting for any source of food in this godforsaken land, and praying for deities to give them luck in the battle that was nowhere in sight. The stale smell of horses and camels was getting worse with each day. Sitting by himself, Mark worked in his makeshift study when Johnny barged in, his breath ragged behind his scarf.

“Someone’s coming.”

Mark’s heart leaped up to his throat. Jumping fast to his feet, he grabbed his scimitar that rested next to him and followed Johnny outside.

_Donghyuck, Donghyuck, Donghyuck!_

A crowd of his men greeted him first. They were pointing to the north where a dirt road lay, stretching all the way up the border and into the unknown. Mark turned towards the source of their attention, shielding his eyes from the sun so he could inspect the incoming cloud of dust better.

A brown sphere rose with hoofs thudding against the ground, making the earth rattle even underneath Mark’s feet. The dark spot in the distance shortly turned into a horde of men and horses, their arrows glinting in the sun.

Mark felt his teeth grind. This was not good.

“It’s Doyoung’s men,” Mark heard Yuta shout. The general pushed through the crowd, walking towards Mark and Johnny. “I’d recognize their shields anywhere. This is their territory.”

“How many?” Johnny asked, throwing a glance at the incoming group.

“I’d say around fifty, no more than that. What are we going to do?”

With that, both Johnny and Yuta turned to look at Mark who seemed to have paid only half of his attention to their conversation. Then something, short like a flicker of light, broke in his expression, something they only saw when Mark desired blood to drip from his weapon. Without a word, he walked past his tent and gathered warriors, stopping just when he reached the very edge of their camp. He waited.

In his mind, dealing with the arriving tribe could pass as a diplomatic agreement, a tactic Mark had never tried with anyone who dared to oppose him. Except Doyoung was an ally and Mark hoped he still remembered the pact they made years ago, even if his loyalties now belonged to the personification of the Sun god himself. 

Feeling for the weapon hung on his belt, Mark stood with his head held high before the raging horses. Their riders hid underneath emerald uniforms, embroidered capes thrown over their shoulders and a brown sparrow with rubies for eyes glowing from heavy shields. To anyone with an untrained eye they might come across as rich merchants or even the royal expedition from the way they carried rubies and silver around their necks, but Mark knew well Doyoung’s people drained their riches from Donghyuck’s mines across the border. The vast mountains hid more treasures than Mark’s men had seen in their lives, something Doyoung had his claws on for decades – gems, gold, food from the villages in the area to keep them sated for months.

Secretly, Mark hoped his diplomatic mission were to fail. After all, he’d nearly forgotten the taste of battle underneath his tongue. Oh how his hand itched around his scimitar. This time, he fought underneath new heavens and he hoped his new gods were just as merciful.

In the distance, he noticed the head of the group raise his hand, causing everyone behind him to come to a halt. He trotted ahead while Mark went to meet him, his hand never leaving his weapon.

“Well, would you look at this! Could this be the great Desert Lion?” Mark heard the man shout. He lifted his head to carefully observe the newcomer, someone Mark recognized as one of Doyoung legates, a companion to their every meeting. His name was unknown to Mark, but the piercing azure eyes and proud smirk remained unmistakable. The grip he had on the reins turned his knuckles white.

“I’m surprised to see you here. I always thought you preferred the faintness of the desert and its bland sand,” he said, eyeing Mark from his worn-out boots to soiled uniform.

“You’d be surprised,” Mark felt the corner of his lips spread into a smirk, “life there is anything but bland. That is why we came here. We needed to prepare for the upcoming season.”

The legate scoffed, his thin eyebrow rising in question. “I don’t think emperor Doyoung is aware of this.”

The title nearly made Mark laugh. He forgot how the people before him believed everything from the Southern Kingdom to Mark’s desert was a mere part of their imaginary empire.

“Luckily, he has you to tell him now,” Mark said, enjoying the way the legate’s face fell at his words.

“Well then, I guess the news can be brought to him after we return from our campaign,” as to emphasize his words, he looked briefly towards the mountains, then again at Mark and the lion emblem on his tunic. Not waiting for a response, he pulled on the reins, making the horse rear. He raised his arm to signal his men, when the animal kicked strongly beneath him, causing the legate to grip the reins harder as to calm the horse.

“What’s with you, Mark?” he shouted when he saw the warrior below him standing firmly in his spot, his neck craned as he glimpsed at something in the direction of his camp. Mortified, the legate watched as some of Mark’s men mounted their horses.

Mark’s blade flashed underneath the sunlight.

“I’m sorry, but it seems I cannot let you go any further.”

Carefully, Mark lowered himself to the ground. The voices of his men drowned in the background as Mark chanted a prayer in his mind, dedicating it to the setting sun. Today he offered blood of countless soldiers, blood that still dripped from his weapon, soaking the sides of his uniform. The gods, indeed, have been merciful.

A vast fire burned from the pile of broken shields, russet sparrows with ruby eyes dug out melted in the heat. A shatter, someone laughed as wine spilled in honor of unyielding success. Victorious, Mark raised his hands to the sky before they fell back, his palms leaving a crimson trace as he ran them down his face. Finally, the claws of his dreading gush pacified under the tears of fallen men.

Dawn had slowly crept upon them when Mark opened his eyes to see Yuta emerge behind the bonfire. Shielding himself from the evil eye of the dead ones, he walked to Mark with a distasteful expression. He didn’t bother with cleaning the remnants of blood from his tunic and boots.

“So, was this the point of us being here? For you to break the only alliance we had in this land?”

When Mark didn’t answer him, Mark on his knees and gaze lost in the horizon, the general turned away with a scowl and profanities aimed at everyone but the deities that have watched them yet through another day of their cursed lives.

And whilst they set the watch for a new night here, in the lap of the black mountains and silvery roads twirling towards the north, Mark took in the surroundings and felt almost at home.

Two days later Jeno pointed towards a figure stepping down the road, coming somewhere from inside the mountains. As the shadow got closer, it dissolved into two people with a horse pulling a wagon. One of them, taller with eyes like a fox, carried the royal insignias on his chest, and the other, silver hair and clever smile, dressed in white from head to toe, gestured towards the wagon where two wooden chests rested.

“A gift of gratitude,” he said.

Mark’s entire camp, with him at the head, watched as the taller of the two brought down the chests, one by one, unlocking the bolt keeping them shut.

Mark held his breath when the crates opened and gold spilled from them in slopes.

As warriors rushed to drown their eyes in the glow of precious piles, Mark turned from them on shaky legs. He passed Yuta on the way to his tent, the general staring with wide eyes at what was happening before him.

“Now you have your answer,” Mark told him **.** Not waiting for a response, he stumbled into his tent, heart in his throat, heart in Donghyuck’s soft hands, heart belonging to the Sun.

The royal ambassadors left the very day they had arrived, only to return once Mark had defeated another group of barbarians that were trying to ransack the villages behind the mountains, the ones that bowed in Donghyuck’s divine presence. 

More gold and supplies appeared, more than before, and his men dug into it without faltering.

“It means he’s alive,” Jeno told Mark one night when the full moon had risen above the wasteland, an ashen pearl on the bust of heaven. For the villagers, it symbolized the end of summer harvest and offering gifts to deities that have blessed them with another fruitful season.

To Mark, it was just another night without Donghyuck.

“And watching,” Jeno tried to add helpfully. “I’m sure we’ll see him sooner than you hope.”

True to Jeno’s words, a letter arrived to Mark not even a week after the ambassador’s last visit.

The white-haired servant, a constant company to the guard that brought in supplies to Mark’s camp, pushed through the drapes of Mark’s tent, throwing him off guard with his unexpected entrance. He gave Mark a big grin when he spotted him at the corner, bent over some maps and figures.

Over the course of days, Mark had learned the man’s name was Jaemin, his colorless robes marking him as a servant in Donghyuck’s court. Akin to Renjun, he carried himself as one of the highest ranked members of the royal court. Though Mark avoided questioning the prince’s decision, it slightly troubled Mark why Donghyuck surrounded himself with men of the lowest rank, from Renjun who was ready to throw away his life for his prince, to this mysterious boy that got sent on such significant missions, as ambassador no less.

And this servant, which burst inside Mark’s private chambers like it belonged to him, brought most unease to Jeno who came in running after him, his chest heaving up and down.

“I-I tried to tell him he can’t just walk in but-“

“I have a message for you, Lion,” Jaemin said, cutting Jeno off. A trail of pure white silk followed him, dancing like foam around his feet. The pearls around his neck hypnotized with each step, the fine material of his robes reminiscent of what Mark used to rip off Donghyuck when they’d grow impatient with light touches and kisses.

Mark observed him carefully over the bunch of papers in his hand, especially once Jaemin reached for something inside his robe. He placed a folded envelope on Mark’s desk, and turned on his heel as soon as Mark broke the seal and began reading.

“Oh and,” Jaemin lingered by the entrance, his hand pushing away the cover, “his Royal Highness is accustomed to having figs after a long trip. Be kind and attend to it.”

The white cape slipped through the entrance, allowing dust into the tent as the heavy curtain fell back in its place. Before Jeno had a chance to curse after the servant, Mark’s red face, hovered over the letter, caught his attention. He cocked an eyebrow, his commander’s visibly flustered expression, contrast to the usual strict one, amusing in a way.

“Is everything alright?”

A tinge of smile played on Mark’s lips while his eyes danced over the last few lines in the letter. To stop the smile from blooming on his face, he bit his bottom lip as he reached a name and royal title at the very end. A skillfully decorated signature rivaled the rest of the writing. At last, Mark folded back the paper, securing the letter somewhere inside his tunic.

“Well, it looks like we will have a visitor.”

They decided to keep it a secret from the rest, considerably easier to make it appear as a sudden diplomatic visit from the king who’s been so generously repaying them for their inadvertent service.

Although Mark’s hidden vassal position kept him awake at night, a much bigger problem arose in the meantime. The very day the letter had arrived and Jaemin left, Jeno fell into hysteria because _how the hell will we find figs here around this time of the year, Mark?_

“I mean lord commander,” Jeno stuttered, watching Mark pace infinite circles around his desk.

Cold rain tapped against the roof of their tent, signaling the first day of autumn in this land. It immediately brought a change of temperature in the air, which made men pull out their warmer coats they never needed back in the desert. Only Mark still strutted in his linen shirt and thin leather boots that offered no protection from the rain. He felt like his skin was on fire; the mere thought of seeing Donghyuck after nearly two months set his mind spiraling.

“We will think of that when the time comes.”

“But King Donghyuck arrives here in five days,” Jeno said hopelessly, his voice barely above a whisper. Mark glared at him from the other side of the room.

“What’s with you?” he asked his guard and Jeno shifted nervously on his feet. The boots he wore were stained with mud that formed even inside the tent with the rain flooding underneath the loose walls. He blinked behind his wet bangs.

“I just think a king deserves a proper reception, even in a wasteland like this.”

Mark squinted at him. “Are you sure that’s all?”

Jeno nodded quickly and Mark’s fingers lingered above the pocket where Donghyuck’s letter rested, not-so-accidently placed under the lion emblem and above his heart. He had it memorized all from the formal introduction to Donghyuck’s desire to have his vassal bend him over his barbaric throne and fuck him until he knows no name but Mark’s on his tongue.

“Very well then,” Mark said and Jeno’s face glowed in an instant.

“I will get to it,” he promised before he ran into the rain, throwing his hood over his head.

As Jeno’s orders to other soldiers were drowned out by the rain, Mark fell back in his chair, throwing his legs on the desk. He pulled out the letter and began reading.

The rain stopped on the morning a white carriage appeared on the mountain path, bright and majestic in its adornment. A troop of men followed close behind, some designated to walk ahead of the horses as well, and clear any obstacles that might appear on the steep road. The clatter of their silver armor resonated through the gorge, sending a shiver down Mark’s spine.

Next to him, Yuta visibly stiffened. Unlike Mark, Yuta nourished an unfathomable hate towards the royal family and their kingdom, his urge to oppose authority visible in the way he refused to bring out his men to greet the king.

_“So you’re telling me we killed his father, imprisoned him, then allowed him to escape our base and into the wilderness where he somehow managed to stay alive, and now he’s coming here to thank us?”_

_“That is correct.”_

_“No, that is bullshit. What I think is that the prince choked on your dick, but you accidentally liked it too much and now we have to put up with every decision that comes not from yours, but his mouth.”_

It haunted Mark that those words were passed among men in his troops. However, it wasn’t the harshness of them, but the truth they hid, something Jeno had tried to enlighten him with on multiple occasions. A sense of relief had engulfed him when he realized that Yuta never mentioned revolting now that Donghyuck had awarded them. Yet the image of Mark on his knees, an oath stolen from him with a kiss, remained a secret and only that is what still tied Mark’s head to his neck.

Especially now, when the regal carriage pulled over at a safe distance, and the only thing Mark wanted to do is bow down before his king until his knees have scarped and forehead bled from touching the ground.

“His Royal Highness Prince Donghyuck!” one of the guards proclaimed, making Mark snap out of his trance. He caught Jeno’s confused look across the row of neatly positioned warriors.

“Prince?” he mouthed, but Mark disregarded him with a heavy feeling settling in his chest. He couldn’t put any thought into it, not when the dawn of his life stepped from the carriage and it felt like a flutter of butterflies danced all over Mark’s skin.

After all this time, Donghyuck remained ethereal. His skin glowed even under the cloudy skies, and his soft hair with a tinge of violet on the tips, like the loveliest lavender blossoming on the edges of the desert, curled above his shoulders. Rimmed with soft pink and orange, his eyes searched Mark’s army until they fell on their commander, ankles deep in mud and mouth dry with a simple glance of those haunting eyes. They quickly shifted to the rest of the army, and Mark felt thousands of emotions running through him like a swift river that crashed and captured everything before it.

With the help of one of his guards, Donghyuck stepped off the carriage, his walk graceful in heeled shoes, richly decorated with satin laces as to match his coat. The thick wool fell down to his ankles, deep green and shielding over his small build.

Even Yuta averted his eyes from the prince, his beauty unmatched to those of a mortal. If Donghyuck truly was a god, then Mark wished to be reborn in the winter of some other time, find him and worship him over and over again, in each and every single one of his lives.

Before Mark managed to come up with words that would grasp the prince’s attention, the carriage opened for another figure to step out, their white robes and frowned expression notorious to all.

Renjun didn’t wait for a guard to offer a caring hand. He took his time in observing the surroundings, his scowl worsening with each passing moment. Mark was sure he saw the servant roll his eyes when their gazes met across the vacant field.

“Well then,” the wind carried Renjun’s words, “let’s finish with this.”

They met in the middle, away from the curious bandits and Donghyuck’s attendants. Only one knight strolled after Donghyuck and Renjun, following them at safe distance. Yuta and Johnny made sure to be by Mark’s side, one motivated by curiosity and the other by spite. Taking Jeno with him would have felt too familiar, too intimate.

Renjun cleared his throat and folded his hands, hidden within wide butterfly sleeves, over his stomach. “I’m sure there is no need for introduction; I’m only here to express His Highness’s inestimable gratitude for your service. We’ve been more than thankful that you have protected our villages multiple times from the tribes that rule here.”

“Does His Highness not know how to talk by himself?” Yuta frowned, his distaste matching Renjun’s.

“I am not surprised you are unfamiliar with the imperial protocol during envoy missions,” Renjun said before Mark could step in. His voice expressed calmness, but he couldn’t hide the way his eyebrow twitched in annoyance.

“His Majesty is required to speak with a representative of a similar rank,” he glanced at Mark’s stained boots, “your rank, at least.”

“Then Mark-“

“In private,” Renjun cut in swiftly, and somewhere behind his shoulder Mark sensed his doom smile into his shoulder, wearing a pretty blush on his cheeks and eyes dark like onyx, like galaxies, like storms.

Donghyuck played dumb. Or regal. Or both. Whatever he may have called it, it drove Mark mad.

The prince strutted languidly around Mark’s modest study, dragging the tips of his finger over each piece of furniture – the carefully crafted wooden chest he stole from one of the pretend kings, Mark’s altar covered in wine and honey, stitched ravens on bed pillows. He stopped when a ripe fig maimed his hand into a full bowl, garnet like Donghyuck’s lips around the damned fruit. His eyes widened after the first bite.

“ _Oh_ ,” he said softly, and Mark foolishly realized that was the first word he heard from Donghyuck in two months of unwavering torment.

“Donghyuck,“ he tried to call, but it came out strained from how his mind itched to touch, touch, touch. Mark ached even now, _especially_ now that Donghyuck was here, but he chose to stand all the way on the other end of the tent, lingering at the tips of Mark’s fingers.

“Your letter-”

“Help me with my coat.”

“Excuse me?” Mark blinked, and Donghyuck grinned over another fig.

“My coat,” he pointed to the wool material over his shoulders. He unpinned the moth brooch keeping it together at the top, and Mark saw a glimpse of something black and gold underneath.

Unable to form any coherent sounds other than beg Donghyuck to stick his fingers down his throat and chant a prayer around them, Mark nodded, urging his mind to clear as he took unhurried steps towards the prince. Donghyuck, menace disguised in glimmer of royal jewels, liquid skin and long fingers, waited.

He waited patiently for Mark to step behind him and slip his coat over his shoulders, to reveal layer upon layer of lace and silk. His light blouse, nearly translucent, bunched in ruffles around his neck, hid the row of moles Mark carefully kissed the first time they met. Another layer of gratuitous uniform coat, golden vines looping over and down his sleeves, ending to where nothing but bronze skin taunted Mark.

The prince stepped out of his coat and all Mark could see were thighs sweet like peaches, heat and light pulsing through his core from those black shorts barely hiding anything. In his heeled shoes, Donghyuck appeared somewhat taller than Mark, but that stopped mattering when Donghyuck settled on Mark’s tiny bed, crossing one leg over another. Horrified, Mark counted the row of satin bows climbing up Donghyuck’s pearly white knee socks.

In an instant, Mark was on his knees by Donghyuck’s feet. The prince offered his hand and Mark’s lips pressed on the obsidian ring there.

“There is no such thing as the imperial protocol, is there?” Mark’s voice sounded muffled against Donghyuck’s wrist.

“Of course there is,” Donghyuck said seriously, “but they usually don’t include the vassal fucking the king.”

 _Finally_ , finally Donghyuck looked at him with his raven eyes and Mark nearly forgot how he stole him from his gods, because now Mark was devoted to him mind and body. His nails softened into the expanse of Donghyuck’s thighs, the prince _so_ pliant under his touch. He uncrossed his legs, allowing Mark to settle between them. He nuzzled at the skin there, flushed and warm from being pressed together for too long.

“Years in the desert, yet it takes me to put you between my thighs so you could look like a goddess born from fire and ash,” Donghyuck said, worsening the crimson on Mark’s cheeks that he’d caressed so lovingly. He grabbed Mark by his chin, forcing him to peek through his eyelashes at the bulge forming inside of Donghyuck’s tight shorts.

Mark bit on his bottom lip. “Let me guess, I should attend to it?”

“If you’d be so kind.”

Eagerly, Mark’s hands glided down Donghyuck’s hips, pressing into the flesh there. He tugged out the sheer blouse that left specks of golden dust on his fingers, like the one in Donghyuck’s dark orbs when Mark pushed him on his back and the prince covered a smile with the sleeve of his uniform coat.

Two fawn-like ankles crossed behind Mark’s neck, forcing Mark to resettle on his knees, digging them deeper into the moist ground. He hesitated near the leather belt squeezing Donghyuck’s waist like molten wax, rising up and down in short breaths.

“Well then?”

Dongyhuck watched him through half-lidded eyes. A sudden yelp echoed through the tent when Mark grabbed one slender ankle, placing his lips on the protruding bone there. 

“I missed you,” he confessed. “I thought you were dead or –“

“Or what? Did you think I seduced you into releasing me? Foolish Lion,” Donghyuck tsked, lifting himself on his elbows to take a better look at the outlaw.

“A letter would have been enough.”

“And you got one.”

“After nearly two months,” Mark muttered, avoiding Donghyuck’s annoyed stare, “but it doesn’t matter anymore. You are here now.”

It will still take more for Mark to learn what made Donghyuck fall apart in his arms and tear the linen sheets beneath his body. But the urgent tone in his voice is enough for now, especially when Mark unhooked the belt and pinched the flushed skin there, absorbing the lines of his waist, disappearing under the waistline of his tiny shorts.

The material easily slipped down Donghyuck’s smooth legs. He was only half-hard down there, but pretty as Mark had remembered him.

An idea dawned on him, a dirty idea that left Mark pulsating each night in front of the altar.

“Knees up,” he ordered and saw Donghyuck raise an eyebrow at that. Holding back a snicker, he unhooked Donghyuck’s ankles from behind his neck. “Can you hold your knees for me, Your Majesty?”

Uncertainty flashed in Donghyuck’s eyes, but he complied. Gloved hands sneaked around shaky knees and Donghyuck settled back on the bed, a huff leaving his lips as Mark praised him for being so compliant.

“It will be such a shame to get you out of these nice clothes later,” Mark said, rubbing his hand up Donghyuck’s calf, playing with the silk ribbons there. With that, he left one last kiss to the prince’s knee, making spring and summer bloom inside of Donghyuck at the same time.

Donghyuck – orphic in his beauty – quivered like a moth in the wind when Mark’s tongue encircled him, dragging the pink muscle inside of Donghyuck’s eager hole. Tiny _uhs_ and _ohs_ rose in pitch, putting Mark at ease. To know the prince enjoyed his fantasy that pushed him over the edge each time lust for Donghyuck broke into his dreams, to have him hide his face into the pillows where Mark knew he had his eyes rolled in bliss – it took all of Mark’s will not to come pathetically, only from Donghyuck melting in his calloused hands.

His body was beautiful, especially the swell of his ass that fit perfectly in Mark’s palms. He pressed a thumb against the round muscle, observing how Donghyuck’s hole tightened around his finger. Bending forward, he freed from Donghyuck’s grasp only so he could spit in the same hand that he used to stretch the boy before him.

“Mark,” Donghyuck threatened – _whimpered_ \- his legs shaking from being trapped too long in one position. Mark couldn’t see his face from here, stuck with fingering Donghyuck with sluggish, dragged out moves, but he could hear the way his own name broke on Donghyuck’s lips when Mark spread his two lobes to spit directly on the rim, lick and slurp. His back arched off the bed, and Mark pulled away, dragging his nails along Donghyuck’s trembling thighs, sugary like honey.

“Wh-what? _Mark_!” Donghyuck panted, his hands barely holding his legs up.

Mark rose slightly on his knees, searching Donghyuck’s face, red from anger and shock and denied pleasure. His cock curved on his stomach, a dark patch forming on the blouse beneath.

“Two months, Your Majesty,” he pointed out, grabbing both of Donghyuck’s socked ankles in his one hand. He stood on unsure legs as Donghyuck stared at him from his bed, violet strands glued to his face, furious blush on the tip of his nose, and wet lips so so heavenly.

He dragged Donghyuck so he was on the edge of the bed, his shirt and jacket crumpled to his armpits. In a blink, the materials went flying somewhere over Mark’s shoulders, leaving Donghyuck in nothing but his knee socks and pretty shoes.

“On your hands and knees,” he said as he lifted Donghyuck, only to throw him back on the bed, face first.

The prince’s curses remained muffled from where he spat them against the mattress. Still, he gradually rose to his knees, glaring at Mark’s over his left shoulder.

“Bastard,” he muttered in the skin of his upper arm when Mark untied the laces on his pants. They fell with a thud and Donghyuck looked away.

“Are you embarrassed, Your Majesty?”

In one large, polished, amphora Mark met the reflection of the prince’s burning eyes, dark as the underground itself, and felt scorching heat settle in the very pit of his stomach. Donghyuck’s was anything but embarrassed, only a little proud, and Mark was ready to put him in his rightful place.

Lowering Donghyuck with a hand on the base of his spine, Mark held the prince’s hip with his other hand as he eased himself into raw, wet heat.

Donghyuck immediately clenched around him, the ridges of his spine heaving with his every breath, the expanse of his back scattered with tiny black moles. Vibrant over the redden skin, like stars, they reminded Mark of the skies he used to pray to. A thin veil of pleasure fell over his eyes when Donghyuck began sobbing and thrusting his hips back, promising that it didn’t hurt so could Mark just fuck him.

“Patience love,” Mark cooed, pulling Donghyuck in.

“Mark, I swear if you don’t-“

Donghyuck’s words got cut by a harsh snap of Mark’s hips. He moaned, a soft cry barely audible from the way he buried his face in one of the pillows. And Mark couldn’t do anything but hammer into him, watching as the length of his cock entered Donghyuck over and over again, drawing out _please_ and _more_ from this divine creature, brought up from gold and summer dusk.

Pinks and oranges stained Mark’s sheets when Donghyuck lifted his chin from the pillow, enough to glance at Mark’s reflection in the shiny amphora. The linen crumpled in Donghyuck’s hands, an unspoken plea for Mark to touch him, his knobby knees unable to withhold anymore.

It only took a flick of Mark’s wrist for Donghyuck to finish, falling uselessly on the mattress, Mark still holding him by his hips.

“Just a little more,” he rambled as he fucked through the last of Donghyuck’s whimpers. Something primitive woke inside of him, something that made Mark pull out and finish all over the elegant curve of Donghyuck’s back.

Dazed, Mark hovered over him, his cock limp in his hand.

“You’re warm,” Donghyuck mumbled tiredly, grabbing Mark’s wrist and dragging him on the bed. The prince curled on the mattress, the beaded pearls dripping down his back, disappearing down, down, down.

And for the first time in two months, like two souls found in the dark, they kissed.

On the softest of beds, Mark dreamt restlessly of sand, water, than sand again. There is a hand of a stranger dressed in redwood so bright it enflamed his heart. The hand pushed away the hair from his face, tucking a loose strand behind his ear. A voice from the shadows called his name in a language known to the sun and stars only.

The second dream ensued after a stir in the night, this one promising of golden palaces and a young lover.

The third one came as a tall shadow at the doorway, cutting through it with a crash and a blood-thirsty blade.

Mark woke with a start.

He blinked his eyes, trying to distinguish anything in the dark that surrounded him. A swirly of cloudy thoughts fell over his mind, and before he had time to search for his weapon, a familiar voice sounded somewhere near him.

The air smelled like jasmine.

“You’re awake, finally”

Mark squinted at the figure looming over him. A lantern illuminated long bright robes and silver stars sewn into butterfly sleeves. The figure opened and closed its fingers around the handle impatiently.

“Renjun?” Mark tried and the light fell on the said boy’s frown.

Muttering something under his breath, Renjun turned, dragging his feet to someone else present in the room. Mark tried to follow him, but the sudden surge of cold air hitting his bare skin reminded him of his current state of bruised throat, sore hips and Donghyuck’s warm body curled next to his.

_Donghyuck_

A ray of pale yellow glow fell on the prince, clad in impeccable light blue tunic and riding boots, worrying his lip as his eyes went over a crumpled parchment of paper in his hand. He lifted his head when Renjun offered him his coat, allowing the servant to pin it under his neck.

“Donghyuck,” Mark heard himself say, except the prince found the writing in his hand far more appealing than his bare, confused lover.

“What are you doing?” he tried again, frustration rising in his voice. It got the prince to fold the paper carefully, tucking it somewhere inside of his thick coat. His expression was almost impossible to read in the dim lights. 

“We’re leaving,” he said simply as Renjun bent to check the laces on his boots. Mark saw Renjun nod and head out of the tent. Donghyuck followed after him.

“What? But you’ve just arrived!”

“Oh, don’t worry, Mark. You’re coming with us.”

“What do you mean? Donghyuck!” Mark panicked. Throwing the sheets around his waist, he jumped out of the bed, stumbling forward slightly. “Why?”

“Well, that is pretty simple,” he gazed at Mark over his shoulder, a devilish grin concealed by the fur on his hood, and Mark felt a tremor run up his body, “to help me take my throne back”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/dawndeer99) | [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/dawndeer99)
> 
> your kudos and comments motivate me the most <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so almost a month later, a new chapter is out! i want to promise i will post the next few chapters more often, but that might not be possible at the moment, at least not until i finish this semester. still, i hope you enjoy this chapter even if it's a bit shorter than the previous one. 
> 
> also please ignore me shamelessly borrowing the organization of the roman kingdom and placing it into my au ;; 
> 
> as always, thanks to S for holding my hand throughout this, and especially all of you who read my work, deal with my constant complaining on twitter and help me in promoting this story <3

“What? Donghyuck, wait!” Mark called desperately. He bent to pick up the remnants of his clothes, now all stained from mud and moist ground where they had been carelessly discarded.

Choosing to ignore Renjun’s muttered complaints ( _How dare you regard His Royal Highness by his first name!_ ), Mark disregarded his shirt as he stumbled after the prince in nothing but his pants and belt where a burnished scimitar lay. Somewhere along the way Renjun kicked his boots at him, and Mark thanked him inwardly, as the coldness of the ground began biting on his feet like a nest of wasps.

When he looked up from the laces on his boots, the entrance to the tent had swallowed the rest of Renjun’s long robe as it disappeared into the evening abyss. Only the footprints swarmed inside the tent spoke of the prince’s visit. Renjun made sure to even take the bits of plush fabric that Mark not so gently tore from Donghyuck’s back and thighs.

Dimness alike the one in his chambers gusted through Mark’s limbs as if they belonged to nature, made of ancient wood, bound to break now when he had no one to hold him with their soft hands and fingers in his hair. Hauntingly, the air smelled like rain, dust and jasmine. And when a single golden cloth, like a dry leaf, slipped from under the pillow, Mark became aware that this autumn, which peasants worshiped with their hands towards the moon, began here in the faintness of his tent.

Tearing his gaze from the crumpled bed sheets to where the north wind pushed the worn-out drape, Mark collected the last vestiges of him from that room and, with a hand on his scimitar, staggered into the land where some new gods bore a golden crown. 

A pair of freezing hands on his bare shoulders was first to welcome him, steadying his body from clashing into Jeno’s armored chest. The guard seemed just as bewildered with his gaze jumping from Mark to two royal figures disappearing into the fog that fell like a thick curtain over their camp. He breathed out shakily, his eyes widening when they met Mark’s own.

“A letter arrived to Renjun’s name,” Jeno began explaining as Mark pushed him aside to follow after the prince and his servant, their robes bright even through the grey fog, “and suddenly he was on his feet, asking to see the prince this instant. He said it was an emergency and that it couldn’t wait until morning and how they had to go back immediately.”

“Who brought the letter?” Mark asked through his teeth, ignoring the shivering of his jaw as the autumn air raised chills over his entire skin. Thankfully, the fog hid them from the curious looks of his men and generals, especially now when Mark strutted around the camp in his scars and love bites for everyone to admire.

“One of their guards, but I didn’t see the royal seal or anything on the letter,” Jeno said, rushing after Mark and almost bumping into him when his commander suddenly stopped in his track. They both looked ahead where the royal carriage had been parked, its wheels held in place by chunks of rock. Next to the brazen wheels, one of the guards worked on removing the obstacles, while others brought in the horses.

Donghyuck, all pink cheeks and swollen lips from the cold, turned towards the distressed call of his name. He lingered on the first step with Renjun urging him to settle inside the carriage.

“Donghyuck! Your Highness!” Mark called, his voice grabbing the attention of the guards. Cautiously, their hands went for the swords attached to their hips.

“It’s alright,” Donghyuck signaled at the guard closest to him, and the man resettled without a word.

Renjun fidgeted impatiently next to the prince. “We must hurry, Your Highness.”

“And leave without our most faithful companion? Absurd.” Donghyuck inspected Mark’s disheveled appearance, hair sticking to forehead and chest beaten red by the wind. “Is that how you plan to travel?” he said, his nose scrunching in pretend distaste. The guard behind him mimicked Renjun in his restlessness.

“No,” Mark said sharply and the prince squinted at him. “What makes you think you can come to my grounds and hand me orders like that?”

“Lord Commander,” Jeno tried to warn, but he soon realized it was too late when Donghyuck straightened his back and raised his chin, mouth turned down into a scowl. Foolishly, Mark looked away from the expanse of his neck where three moles rested, all three that Mark oh so carefully kissed before the sun had set over them. He heard his own uneven breathing cutting through the fog.

“How do you think I will bring an entire horde of men used to sand and sun over a terrain they’ve never experienced? And all that while the north wind threatens to eat through our flesh and let the cold kill us from inside,” Mark looked at the prince again, only this time to see Donghyuck’s arrogant twist of lips transform into a tight line. Something bitter settled in his chest, and Mark found himself unable to stop words that choked him for nearly two months while he worshiped with his forehead against the altar and Donghyuck’s name on his lips. He didn’t have to cast his eyes from Donghyuck to know he grabbed the attention of all that surrounded them.

“Two months of following your silent orders, Your High- Majesty, whatever they call you now! I had men fall for the sake of your Kingdom, but I swear to all which is holy that I won’t take them over those hills.”

Curiously, almost like a child, Donghyuck leaned his head to the side. His violet strands bunched over the fur on his shoulder.

“To which gods do you swear, Desert Lion?” His dark orbs danced between Mark’s own to the scars on his chest. “Hm?”

“To those I pray to,” Mark answered instantly and nearly stepped back when Donghyuck lowered himself to the ground again, his gloved hand offered to the outlaw.

“Then why do you hesitate? Let’s go.”

A tremor ran up Mark’s back when those soft hands in white gloves pushed back his hair, pressing on the bruised spot at the centre of his forehead. He never noticed Donghyuck approach him this close.

“Gather your men,” he glided his palms down Mark’s chest, softer than petals of lavender Mark would imagine putting in his hair, a crown of feathers, lilac buds and pearls.

“I can’t.”

“They followed you here and they’d go beyond for you.”

“For me, yes.”

“Ah, I see.” Donghyuck stood on his toes and Mark felt a pair of gentle lips press against the calloused skin there. “So they don’t know how you got this scar here?”

With a hand on Mark’s shoulder, he glanced at Jeno who gritted his teeth when a gust of wind pushed down his hood.

“Renjun, help Jeno pack his things for the trip. Make sure he brings something warm, you know how the wind is around this time of the year.” Renjun’s voice echoed with affirmation, already joining the guard’s side. “And Jeno, before you bring your comrades here, take something for our Lion before he turns blue like violet under spring snow.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Mark tried to release himself from the prince’s hold, cheeks flushed from either the whipping cold or those embarrassing orders, yet mostly from Donghyuck’s warm breath against his ear.

“Don’t worry, I’m only taking you this time. They will bring you into the Capital with a laurel on your head and on a golden chariot, the crowd will shout your name like you just celebrated your first triumph, but no one will know it’s me who you spill your blood for.”

And just like that, Mark burned in his Sun’s arms.

“They’ll never listen to him,” Jeno said to Mark as a sea of warriors gathered before them like tide before the grey moon.

“They will. They have to – it’s the only chance we got.”

It wasn’t hard to miss how all the men shuddered when Donghyuck stepped through, facing the crowd with a solemn expression. Mark wanted to curse at them because it only took for the prince, the mythical prince from their stories with serpent irises and wine-stained lips, to grace them with a simple glance and they were already shielding themselves from the curse Donghyuck might cast upon the camp. They were stupidly superstitious and Donghyuck carried the skies they prayed to in his eyes.

Even Johnny and Yuta looked uncomfortable once Donghyuck showed them his open palms, bare of any gloves and trinkets. He took off his ring, Mark noticed.

“I come to you like this,” he started, his words piercing through the silent fog, “because the weapons of my army are not aimed at you. This time, we have a common enemy.”

“Doyoung is not our enemy, at least he wasn’t until now,” Yuta spoke somewhere from the front, causing a series of approval from his comrades. Mark’s jaw tightened, but Donghyuck seemed unfazed by the words. If not, something akin to contentment showed in the way his eyebrows raised and lips stretched over perfect teeth into a smirk.

The lilac tips of his hair had started to curl from the damp air, falling in soft curls around his face. Even with menace dripping from his fingertips, Donghyuck had managed to look angelic.

“My dearly detested neighbor isn’t of my concern anymore thanks to you, and I will continue to show my gratitude with monthly rewards from my treasury.” That made some men to finally look up and nod towards one another. Suddenly, Donghyuck replaced his joyful mask with one of grief. The warriors seemed to notice that, falling back into silence.

“A much greater danger hangs over our necks.”

“What is he talking about?” Jeno whispered and Mark could only shake his head as Donghyuck made a show of pointing to the skies, veiled behind the thick layer of white fog.

“Gods’ wrath.”

And those words were all it took for the crowd to explode in pathetic wails. Pale, Mark watched as men with weapons on their belts and blood on their hands fell before the uncrowned divinity, staring back at him, skin sparkling gold and eyes of fallen creatures, dark, dark, dark. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go?” Johnny asked as he watched Mark pace around the tent, collecting the last of his baggage for the trip.

“No, I need you here.” Mark lifted the mattress of his bed, a dusty old thing stuffed with yellow straw, and grabbed a tiny sack that was hidden among the sheets. It clinked when Mark checked its contents, only to tie it back up, and place the sack somewhere inside of his wool cloak.

“I don’t think Doyoung is too happy that we’re blocking the path to the mines and his rubies.”

“Understood,” Johnny said, his tone turning serious suddenly. “The thing he told us about. Is it real?”

“What thing?” Mark turned to glance at Johnny over his shoulder, feigning naivety. He quickly returned his attention back to his belongings when Johnny mentioned the prince’s name. Up to this point, he was packing his things aimlessly.

“I saw it on your face. Something else is at stake. Why does he need _you_ there?”

“I am clueless as you are.”

He heard Johnny exhale tiredly. His boots resonated against the gravel as he walked around Mark’s desk. Outside, behind the soiled walls, a trumpet sounded and men cheered, a sign they survived another night in this wilderness. It was nearly dawn.

“What did you do?”

“Johnny-” Mark pleaded, his palms sweaty underneath his gloves. Steadily, he rose to his feet and turned to face his second-in-command. The latter arched his brows, genuine gaze worried above the rim of his scarf. The torches he lit earlier cast shadows on his face, Johnny’s eyes like two black coins.

As if burned, Mark’s palm began itching. 

“I swore to him. He put me on my knees and I kissed his ring, Johnny. The ring of the Sun Imperator, the same one I cut off his father’s hand, only to put it on _his_.”

Mark’s voice cracked with the last word, and he felt himself hurl his belongings to the other side of the room with a deep growl rumbling through his chest. For the first time in his life, Mark felt hopeless – hopeless in front of Johnny, his men, their gods, _himself_. In that feeling that clawed on his insides like a wild beast, that seemed to spread open its jaws whenever Donghyuck bore his cursed eyes at him, he bowed before the creature and willingly surrendered his all, just to have Donghyuck bless him with pink lips on his, golden crown crooked, and bruised eyelids fluttering in heavenly bliss.

With one glance at the altar next to his bed, soaked in red like pomegranates, Mark turned to Johnny. He took off his gloves, showing the general his open palms where countless silvery lines told tales of a brave Lion and his mercenaries ruling over a limitless desert, their skin branded under the blazing star and sand stuck on their soles. Only one scar stood above all, the skin around it destroyed, a gaping wound speaking of its recentness.

Maybe, in the end, Mark was never a lion.

“ _This_ is the gods’ wrath.”

“Oh _Mark_ ,” Johnny shook his head and Mark felt the scar tingle at the call of his name, pitying and broken. Even now, he vividly recalled the line of crimson drops glistening over Donghyuck’s royal ring. He remembered the burn, his blade dirtied with remnants of previous battles, thick liquid dripping down his hand to his elbow and Donghyuck’s victorious grin.

It hurt. All blood oaths did, after all.

“The gods will be angry.”

“ _Their_ gods. And only if I break the oath,” Mark closed his fingers around the scar, dirt and blood stuck under his nails. Vaguely, he wondered how he allowed himself to touch Donghyuck, his golden prince, with hands like these. 

“Well, thankfully, you have us to protect you from any wrath _their_ gods decide to send upon you.”

Mark’s eyes snapped upwards only to see Johnny shrug his shoulders, most of his attention directed at the sounds of the new day outside in their camp.

“I have an oath to keep too.”

“I never made you swear-“ Mark started, but Johnny cut him with a wave of a hand. The other one was safely gripped around the handle of his spear.

“You didn’t, but someone else made _you_ and that is enough for me _,_ ” Johnny said with a tinge of smile behind his black scarf, “for us. Although I wouldn’t say you were forced to do so. But he does have those eyes of his, dark like the underground.”

“Yeah,” Mark somehow managed to utter. And for the first time in months, the hand around his throat, sun ring and platinum fingertips, felt like it wavered, even just for a split moment.

“But you don’t even know the reason he wants us there.”

His abandoned bag of useless items fell before him, making Mark jump slightly at the sudden rouse.

“I don’t think you do either. Now finish your packing,” Johnny said, already on his way out. “They will leave without you.”

And Mark did. With his bag over his shoulder, horse reins gripped in his hand, burning into the scar, _reminding_ him, Mark rode after the white carriage. The camp, a bright red dot, gradually blurred until it finally disappeared under the morning fog. The gold sphere over them cast dim rays of light against the convoy, embracing the Lion that was to watch over the kingdom.

Yet, little did he know, that in the dawn of the very morning, a same bright energy burst inside of a boy to whom the World had just started to reveal itself.

They passed the mountains in two days with Jeno’s entire hand eaten by frost, skin torn and pink where he had no gloves to protect them.

“I’ve never been outside of the desert,” Mark heard him whisper apologetically to Renjun who busied himself with wrapping Jeno’s wounded hand in layers of white cloth. The servant ignored any noise of protest that Jeno may have sounded when he attempted to stop the miniature specks of blood that broke through the bandage.

They’ve decided to rest right on the outskirts of the villages that scattered before them, the one Mark had been guarding with his troops for the past two months. No signs of winter, unlike the mountains, seemed to have cast over the small houses and infinite rows of trees protecting them. Vast fields, bright and yellow, coiled among the narrow roads leading into the Southern Kingdom.

Mark breathed in and felt autumn swell in his lungs, earthy like a meadow after the rain.

“You don’t seem to mind the cold.”

Mark turned to see Donghyuck walk through sunburnt leaves, his dark green coat a Maytime contrast to hues of fire and gold around him. A carefully crafted tiara, adorned with colorless jewels, kept his hair from falling into his face. With that, it was much easier to admire the way seasons reflected on the prince’s youthful features - cheeks tinted pink from the wind, and eyes murky as a river on a cold winter night.

“I grew up in a land where it would snow around the month of the Moon goddess,” Mark said, making Donghyuck blink curiously at him.

“I thought the great Desert Lion knew only of unbearable heat and sand among his toes,” he teased as he invited Mark to sit on one of the abandoned logs. Their shoulder rubbed over the thick layers of fabric, Mark’s uniform and the prince’s wool coat. Even so, Mark could feel himself shiver at the contact.

“You know, the Desert was the first place I’ve visited outside my kingdom.”

“And the second.”

“And the second,” Donghyuck echoed with a smile and Mark’s heart skipped. “I leave it unattended once and they’re already trying to take it away from me.”

 _Who are they?_ Mark’s mind itched to ask, but he had a clue Donghyuck would enlighten him on the matter even without him intruding. Instead, he said, “Maybe you shouldn’t have left it unattended then.”

Donghyuck seemed taken aback first, but eventually his face relaxed, lips stretching into a sad smile. His gaze was lost in the horizon, right where the forest melted away into the meadow of the Southern Kingdom.

“Maybe,” he said. Then, something in his voice changed and Mark saw him regain his composure back, all straight back like he was balancing an invisible crown on his head. “Tell me, Lion, do you know how the hierarchy of the Southern Kingdom works?”

“Well I know you’re the king,” Mark said with a shrug. The title maimed a pleased little grin out of Donghyuck.

“I presume that would be enough for now.”

Gradually, the prince stretched his legs and rose back to his feet, the same time as Renjun allowed Jeno to mount his horse again.

“We should reach the first town by afternoon. Taeyong will meet us there, and let’s hope we arrive to the Capital before the Senate declares my brother as their rightful king. If that happened, know that it won’t be only my head they’re after.”

“The Senate?”

“So here’s how it works,” Renjun began, readjusting in his seat.

They’ve continued their journey so they could meet this Taeyong the prince had mentioned, the name unknown to Mark as anything Donghyuck had told him by now. As His Royal Highness didn’t bother with formalities of any sorts, it was Renjun who had to share the saddle with Jeno so he could enlighten the two _barbarians_ \- Mark had heard the servant still refer to them as such - of anything they might encounter at the royal court.

The problem arose when Donghyuck assigned that noble mission to Renjun who detested any moment he might get to share with Mark or his companion. To make things worse, since all royal guards marched on foot by the carriage which the prince governed alongside Renjun, the servant was doomed with sharing a horse with Jeno, even with Mark’s guard insisting he could walk.

“I’m not the most skilled on horse,” he gritted through his teeth while trying to sidesaddle with a furious blush, his long robes tangling around his legs.

“Jeno, make sure our guide doesn’t fall off his seat. I think you will have to hold him tighter,” Mark threw his way, making his guard splutter behind his scarf, something he still insisted on wearing, even with Mark disregarding his own long time ago. Yet, he could see why Jeno clung to it even with the Desert miles behind their backs – it was the only familiar thing in the mass of unknown that unveiled before them. The only _barbaric_ thing he had left now when Donghyuck had burnished his faith into Mark’s palm.

Renjun coughed when Jeno grabbed the reins in one hand, leaning back as much as the saddle permitted him.

“The Senate,” Renjun glared at Mark, “is the highest institution of the Southern Kingdom, other than the king of course. They rule alongside His Majesty, but they don’t have any role other than trying to pass some laws and making sure the king isn’t abusing his power. Problems come in times like this.”

“Like what?” Mark asked and Renjun rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed he had to waste any more words than necessary.

“Like when the king is dead and they’re the ones deciding which of the heirs takes the throne.”

“But isn’t prince Donghyuck their legitimate heir?” Jeno said to which Renjun nodded, glancing around them.

“He is and so is his brother,” the servant lowered his voice when he noticed one of the guards catch his eyes. Immediately, they were back to the forest path and Donghyuck’s white carriage. The echo of the branches breaking underneath the brazen wheels drowned Renjun’s whispers.

“The Head of the Senate doesn’t quite favor prince Donghyuck so he’s trying to push his younger brother in his place, even though he is not next in line for the throne.”

The missing pieces of Donghyuck’s great secrecy finally began to form in Mark’s head. His disappearance, the stolen title, burning oaths and quick departures – they all made sense now that Mark could imagine the games that were played among the most powerful men of the court. His body withered at the thought of men trying to harm Donghyuck. Then, anger, red like hells, boiled in the pit of his stomach.

“Can they even do that?”

“Maybe. We don’t know.”

“Wait,” Jeno’s brows furrowed, “who rules the lands now?”

“The Senate does. After the king dies, a time of interregnum begins. Half of the Senate members get to hold the office, but only three days each. So after those three days pass, they pick another one to govern the kingdom and so on,” Renjun explained with a solemn expression. His brown eyes, framed by white and silver glitter, lingered on the prince’s carriage. “Yet this practice is only common when the king has no direct heirs, so they have to dig through dozens of his cousins and pick which one has the most rights to be called king. But that is not the case now.”

Mark’s grip tightened around the reins. He wondered if Donghyuck felt the same raging fury as he did.

“How much time so we have?” Mark asked and his voice sounded too hoarse, like the golden hand around his throat returned, only this one didn’t carry the old lovers anguish as the other did. This one gripped a scepter, with skin and blood underneath its fingernails. Somehow, the air now smelled of smoke and Mark wanted to choke.

Renjun played with the silver ring around his gloved hand. It matched the paleness of his robes. Only now Mark noticed how it was his eyes, fawnlike in shape, that stuck out from the rest of his appearance. Even his hair kept the traces of silver on the tips, a soft shade of violet dying the rest. If he wasn’t so detestable to Mark, he might have even called him pretty.

“Two weeks until the interregnum ends,” Renjun pulled off his ring, simply to put it back down. His hands curled into fists on his lap.

“And then?”

“We will find out.”

“And in the meantime?” Mark felt frustration rise in his voice.

“In the meantime-” Renjun replied calmly, his hands elegantly clasped in his lap once more. His eyebrow twitched when Jeno’s horse jerked slightly, causing the servant to seek balance from his riding companion. Mark heard his guard apologize quietly.

“In the meantime, we reach the Capital safely.” Renjun resettled so he could look at something before them, and Mark turned on time to see a castle rise high, high, over the trees, so high it seemed the grey towers reached the very sky. “But not before you meet Duke Taeyong.”

Duke Taeyong was late.

His servants hurriedly passed through the entrance hall, attending to the last of the decorations even with Donghyuck seated at one of the plush chairs, waiting. He reminded Mark of the time they met, when Donghyuck would recline on his divan with apathy painting his face in shades of utmost boredom. With his legs crossed and thick coat folded over Renjun’s forearms, Mark could admire the way his blue tunic outlined his waist perfectly, _too_ perfectly. 

Suddenly, he moved from the backrest and a thin row of laces, barely there from how tightly they pressed into Donghyuck’s back, climbed up his spine, like summer vines. And as bad as Mark wanted to ignore it, he couldn’t, not when Donghyuck wore a damn corset to the royal reception and all Mark could do was _imagine_. Surely the prince would deem it as inappropriate if Mark would grip him by his waist until his fingers have left marks under the cursed garment, have him pressed against the bulge currently forming in his pants, make Donghyuck rub against him with Mark’s hand clasped over his mouth because no guard should hear their prince begging to be fucked by a filthy barbarian.

A crash echoed through the hall, causing Mark to flinch. His back felt wet under his own layers of clothes, uniform and cape, sticking to his skin.

“I am so sorry,” a man rushed down the grand stairs, the heels of his boots ringing against the stone floor. His overcoat, same purple and gold as the tapestries hung around the hall, made him stand out from the monotonous group of servants clad in plain earth colors.

Mark carefully observed his small form, hidden in puffy sleeves and collared shirt. He almost went for his scimitar when the man reached Donghyuck’s chair, but stopped at a distance where he could kneel and graze Donghyuck’s outstretched hand with his forehead.

“Welcome to the Aphelion Gardens, Your Highness.”

“It is always a pleasure to be here, cousin,” Donghyuck said. With one finger, he lifted the man’s chin and he revealed his face to him, two bright eyes – one light as the sand of Mark’s kingdom, the other aegean blue – crinkling in delight. A simple pin, shaped as the sun, kept the left side of hair from falling over his forehead. His almost ashy gray hairs reminded Mark of the castle walls, striking over the commoners’ houses and empty fields.

As he rose back to his feet, he took a step back to admire Donghyuck’s attendants. His eyebrows raised in wonder. It didn’t take long for Mark to recognize how the surprise was directed at him. His own silhouette, a dark stain looming over the prince, started back at him from the other man’s sandy eye. For a split moment, Mark saw himself in the desert again. 

“Your Grace,” Renjun said, causing the attention directed at Mark to wither away. The sand faded in a blink. “We are grateful for your welcome, especially during these difficult times for the Southern Kingdom.”

Taeyong nodded, lowering his gaze. “We at the Aphelion Gardens still mourn the death of the great Sun Imperator. May the gods have mercy on his soul.”

 _“May the gods have mercy on his soul.”_ The hall echoed with the words of all of Donghyuck’s guards. Next to him, Mark felt Jeno tense.

“For that reason, please accept His Highness’ gift of gratitude,” Renjun bowed his head and one royal guard brought out three leather tomes, beautifully adorned with engraved forest of gold and black leaves, a title written in symbols Mark couldn’t read.

“Our Sun priests have been working on writing down the history of the Southern Kingdom since the Good King Jungwoo up to the most recent events and our late King’s campaign **on** the northern tribes. We’d like you to have this very first copy.”

The duke took the gift with hesitant hands. His fingers traced the shapes of an imaginary forest flourishing on the covers of the books.

“Your Highness didn’t have to repay me in any way. We are always honored to have you on our modest grounds,” Taeyong said with a slight bow. Before him, the prince remained unmoving. Only his fingers, long and thin, showed signs of life as they dabbed against the armrest in an uneven rhythm. The sun on his ring finger matched the one in Taeyong’s hair.

“I’m sure Your Highness is worn from the trip. I will arrange to have a room prepared for you.” Taeyong signaled with his hands, a simple flick of his wrist, and the servants were already on their way out, some remaining by the stairs and waiting for the prince to give them further orders.

“That won’t be necessary. We will be on our way to the Capital tonight,” Donghyuck said and even Renjun couldn’t hide his shock at those words.

“But Your Highness,” he stammered, rushing after the prince who rose from his seat and guided Taeyong away with a hand on his shoulder. The massive door closed with a loud slam.

They stayed there, Jeno, him and the royal guards, surrounded by curious onlookers. Their robes treasured the same sun, sewn into sleeves of wool tunics, which seemed to reflect on the rays of light peeking through the stained glass windows. Thousands of miniature pieces of glass, broken into a story, told of a king and a woman, with hair like flames, battles, coronations and armies bathed in the first rays of dawn. The four elements surrounded the king in one of those, and Mark couldn’t overlook Donghyuck’s enchanting eyes in the one’s of the man who now carried a crown of sunflowers on his russet head.

Mark looked away, his mind clouded with the images of wheat fields cast in blood and fair-haired figures in golden chariots, when he felt a tug on his sleeve. Before him stood a servant girl, her eyes cast downwards.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said and Mark heard Jeno snort. He ignored him in favor of the girl, who trembled with her hands gripping an empty basket.

“Would you follow me to your chambers,” then, bravely, she looked at Jeno, “you and your friend?”

Jeno, amused, walked ahead, repeatedly turning at Mark with a mocking _friend, are we friends now Lord Commander?_ and Mark would later think of the ways to discipline him. Right now, as they passed through the halls where more stories unraveled, he could only think of how Donghyuck’s eyes were less like the king’s, and more like the woman’s – like oceans, like midnight skies, forsaken temples, flared cities.

Mark liked to think how he wasn’t waiting for Donghyuck’s orders. Because Mark didn’t take orders from anyone, especially boys who pretended to be kings in the privacy of their chambers, ones that pleaded with their eyes, and moaned around Mark’s fingers in their mouths.

What Mark liked to think was how he’d be better here, in the comfort of his new room, and not wasting time by exploring an unknown castle of men he’d kill in a battle without hesitation months ago. If the castle grounds were made of sand, he might have considered leaving this enclosed space, but here the air smelled like pine and smoke, brought with the autumn breeze, and so so unusual. Ironically, he’d call it barbaric, but the air in his wasteland didn’t smell like someone burned a pile of leaves and feasted over it.

Even Jeno, who slept soundly on the stone windowsill, scrunched his nose. His bandaged hand still held onto his spear loosely.

On the opposite widow, Mark observed the last of the servants pacing over the courtyard, making final preparations before retiring for the night. From here, the highest chamber in the east tower, they looked like ants that would jumble in fear whenever a dark shadow would loom over them. And among the group, a fire burned so bright it left tiny specks of light in Mark’s vision.

Before he decided to trade Mark’s company with dreams of Capital’s infamous brothels he rarely forgot to mention in their conversations, Jeno had told him the people of the Northern Kingdom feared dark, “and that is why they always have to light a fire before they go to sleep. So the darkness doesn’t harm them.”

“Sounds like a story you tell your kids before bed. Also, why would people who worship the Sun fear darkness? Don’t they have their gods to help them?”

He couldn’t remember Jeno’s response after that, but it kept him up, unable to fall asleep even with weariness from their trip pounding through his temples. Now when he worshipped the Sun, should he be scared of the darkness too? Would falling for Donghyuck on his knees leave him wary of the forces he so devotedly prayed to? Offered his blood, the blood of others?

Mark’s hands trembled. This was how he would pay for his hubris – with palms cut open, restless nights, and his blood on Donghyuck’s altar.

Suddenly, the air stopped smelling of smoke. It vanished in a blink, followed by the sweet fragrance of jasmine so dear to Mark.

He looked through the window, down, down, where a gleaming speck pushed through the crowd. It disappeared once it entered the east tower, and Mark held his breath until a sharp knock resounded inside the dimly lit room.

The first time Renjun was here, he announced His Highness’ change of thought - they will, in fact, spend their night here.

Now, with a grimace, he informed of His Highness’ desire to converse about important matters.

“At this hour?”

“At this hour.”

Because if prince Donghyuck was the price Mark must pay for his hubris, then he might as well use to it to his advantage.

With a firm grip, Mark pulled Donghyuck by his ankle, dragging the prince across the bed. His Royal Highness giggled, his hair a mess and face red. He tried to turn so his back rested on the soft duvet and pile of pillows the servants arranged for him, now all a nest of white feathers and dust flowing through the midnight luminescence.

“Stop trying to run away from me,” Mark threatened, his knees digging into the mattress of Donghyuck’s canopy bed. 

“Stop trying to fuck me,” Donghyuck glanced at him over his bare shoulder, half-lidded eyes painted in ocean blue.

“Is there any other reason you called me in the middle of the night, Your Highness?”

“I only wanted to converse.”

“With your clothes off?”

“Only because you tore them off of me,” Donghyuck lifted his chin, mouth curled in a grin like a vicious feline. Finally, he turned so to settle on his back, the pile of pillows and feathers built like a throne, his tousled hair a rebellious crown. The moon cast over his bare chest in pale stripes, revealing tiny moles, lacing marks and soft skin. Faintly, Mark’s kisses from nights before still blushed prettily over Donghyuck’s hips and stomach.

He wasn’t mast, unlike Mark who throbbed between his legs.

“It’s you who allowed it.”

“I saw how much you wanted it,” he bit on his pink tongue, smiling sheepishly, “over there in the great hall. You should be ashamed, Lion. I will have to assign Renjun to teach you some court manners.”

Mark scowled. He grabbed Donghyuck’s ankle again, trying to bite on one of his small toes. The prince shrieked, the entire chamber echoing with giggles and feathers flying everywhere.

“That’s what you get for mentioning your obnoxious servant when I have you naked underneath me,” Mark said into Donghyuck’s neck, pressing one soft kiss there. With that gesture Donghyuck melted in Mark’s touch, relaxing against his chest. Mark felt him breathe in and exhale slowly, like he was trying to savor every bit of Mark, make sure he was one who weaved fingers through his hair and kissed his temple most gently.

“You don’t smell like the sun anymore,” Donghyuck’s voice was muffled against his chest.

Mark traced his finger over Donghyuck’s lobe that peeked though a mess of violet strands. He never noticed the tiny yellow jewel pierced through the flesh there.

“Don’t be ridiculous. No one can smell like the sun.”

“Of course they can. Now, you smell like earth. And dust.”

“If it helps, I haven’t bathed since we left the camp,” Mark said and another fit of quiet laughter shook the prince’s small form.

“Gross,” he tried to push away from the outlaw, but the firm grip on his waist had him caught between Mark’s linen shirt and fingers pressing into his skin, rubbing small circles over the marks there.

“I am glad Renjun’s persuaded me into spending the night here,” he heard Donghyuck say as his hands sneaked over Mark’s shoulders, remaining on the flushed back of his neck. Softly, he played with the short strands there.

“That would be true, yes, if you ever truly intended on leaving the day you arrived.”

“Ah,” Donghyuck gasped and two shiny orbs, like onyx marbles, gazed up. “You’re smart. I like you even more now.”

Mark’s cheeks warmed at those words. He ignored the racing beat against his ribs in favor of pinching Donghyuck’s thigh just as the prince threw his leg over Mark’s waist. Easily, he untangled himself from Mark’s grip so he could resettle with his bare ass right above Mark’s clothed groin.

“But you won’t tell me why, am I correct?”

Donghyuck shook his head. “You’ll figure it out yourself. What you need to do now, my Lion, is be brave. Because, once we arrive at the Capital, they’ll want to _devour_ you. And no god will save you then.”

“Not even you?”

Donghyuck smiled. “Come on, now.”

He took Mark’s hand and left a kiss at the centre of his palm where a burning scar had just started to mend.

“Worship me.”

Somewhere in the night, a whisper could be heard, bouncing against the stone walls. They were cold against Mark’s back once he sought protection from two figures passing through the hall, their swords and shields rattling obnoxiously. Lonely moon guarded the Lion as he sneaked from Donghyuck’s chambers back to his tower, sweat gathering on his nape even with the icy shudder sneaking up his spine.

It seemed only his heavy breathing could be heard when the guards disappeared behind the corner. The king and the woman with red hair mourned over a knight from one of the windows. The wind outside rattled the glass, waking the images plastered over them.

Distracted, Mark tried to return to his little escapade, when another voice, familiar, caused him to halt.

“You too?” he heard duke Taeyong laugh.

Someone else was with him, their voice too distant for Mark to discern it properly. 

“Hurry. I think he already left.”

Bare soles tapped against the floor, leaving a silver trace of glitter and dimly light stars. Eyes of kings and queens on the walls followed the long tail of white silk that floated above the ground as the figure hurried its pace.

Renjun ran down the corridor and Mark collapsed on the floor, a bitter taste in his mouth lingering, never fading.

Dawn slowly rose over the castle. With one final look at it, the royal convoy reached the outskirts of the town. Nothing but endless road spread ahead.

“How many days until we reach the Capital?” Jeno asked. Their most recent addition, duke Taeyong, straightened on his own horse and fixed the ties keeping his cape together.

“Three at most.”

Mark wouldn’t argue Donghyuck’s decision to bring along the duke, not after he spent a restless night in his room, digging nails into his wound until it burst open like a blister, going through scenarios in his head of treachery and cunning royals. Not after he promised to be brave and he was already spilling over the edges.

Mark’s destiny lay on the sand covered in blood, over some warrior in broken armor who choked on air and begged for his life, not some foul court games.

“Three?” Jeno echoed, not able to hide the distress rising in his voice. 

Taeyong sniffed, glancing at Mark over his shoulder with his mismatched eyes. Mark ignored him for the sake of mounting his horse and riding ahead, placing himself on the head of the convoy. The duke’s last words stormed through him like wildfire.

“Pray, outlaw, it takes us longer. Because those days might be last ones of our lives.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> 
> your kudos and comments motivate me the most <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new chapter is finally out! i'm sorry you had to wait for it this long, but i'm still burdened with uni work and that unfortunately didn't stop not even during the holidays... still, i managed to write the longest chapter so far which if something like a prelude before the real drama :')  
> i also want to thank everyone who is still reading this story and leaving kudos and comments! it means a lot and helps me stay motivated <3

“Well, it looks like we made it,” Taeyong said proudly. “The Capital of the Southern Kingdom.”

It wasn’t the grandiose marble pillars that Mark noticed first, nor the golden statues lining up the entrance bridge, temples drowning in blues of lapis lazuli, the afternoon sun reflecting on the domes built of shattered glass and godlike figures, the king’s residence towering over them like epitome of pride and greed. _No_ – it was the smell of shit rising over the rose bushes planted on the town square and people gathering to watch the royal convoy roll through filthy streets, an eager crowd that almost pushed Mark off of his horse.

Not even Jeno could hide disgust that made him hold his breath as they rode through the Capital. Unlike Mark, his guard’s never been to the city. He couldn’t have known what it was like to wake up each morning and not smell the sand, but seas of unwashed men, crowded markets and raw meat left to rot on the dirt. Now, as his guard pushed up his scarf and slightly wavered on his horse, it seemed to Mark that Jeno was more of a desert child than he was.

Donghyuck broke his promise – he didn’t crown Mark with a laurel, but his old scarf that fell loosely over Mark’s head and shoulders. He’d taken away Mark’s dream of riding into the city with the crowd shouting his name only to replace it with drunken men tripping before his horse and pointing a finger at his and Jeno’s sand-covered robes. If only Donghyuck had tied Mark’s arms to his front, he’d be more glorious ridden through as a war trophy than a pitiful warrior scraping his knees for this king without a crown.

Vaguely, he remembered duke Taeyong telling them of the late king, wars he had waged against the smaller kingdoms in east that left him empty-handed, men and women starving as he emptied the royal treasury for the sake of hiring mercenaries and forging swords over the holy fire.

“The gods haven’t abandoned the Sun Imperator, as they like to tell” Taeyong had said, “they’d only found their place in the souls of grieving mothers whose sons died in vain.”

Remembering those words, Mark kept his eyes on the flamed star plastered over Taeyong’s back. He was afraid to look anywhere else, the thought of finding his old gods’ wrath in the glares of mournful mothers, mourning _him_ for the gold stains and remains of libation on his fingertips, forced pain to break from his palm and up his arm.

A loud _Halt!_ forced Mark to flinch in his seat, directing his attention towards the drawbridge about to be lowered over the murky waters. Everyone waited as knights with suns on their chests spilled from within the castle walls and carefully guided Donghyuck’s carriage through the gate. On it, a statue of a deity with his eyes blindfolded welcomed them.

It was like another world flourished behind the great fortitude of knights in shiny armor and castle walls. Everything, from the great archway they passed through, emblems of lilies and birds in hues of fire and autumn adorning it, to the castle forged from white stone, a pearl caught in a shell of grey earth, spoke of the royal family’s greatness. The sound of waves crashing boomed through the courtyard, along with the metal weapons the guards carried on their hips. They all bowed before the convoy, not raising their heads even after the carriage had passed them.

For the first time during their trip, Mark felt invisible. His plain robes actually seemed plain compared to the gold brandished into the pillars protecting the entrance of the castle. Truly, not this amount of riches could have been put for someone mortal.

And as Donghyuck, with gloomy tides in his orbs and nectar dripping from his fingertips, brought the whole courtyard to their knees, Mark realized that, beyond doubt, this was meant for someone holy.

The golden sphere weaved through the castle doors broke into half once they opened and three figures stepped through. The guards remained with their heads lowered, Taeyong too, as the tallest of the three walked past them so he could lower on his knee before Donghyuck.

From atop of his horse, Mark watched the scene unfold before him – Donghyuck helping the boy rise and placing a hand on his shoulder. Their robes, blue and velvety, were nearly identical.

“Welcome home, Your Highness,” the boy said, resting his own hand on top of Donghyuck’s. “We didn’t expect you to be back so soon, but,” he smiled shyly, his dark bangs falling in his eyes, “that doesn’t mean I’m not happy to see you. I missed you.”

Donghyuck pushed him playfully and the boy rubbed his offended side with a pout, all formalities cast aside. “What have you done to my brother while I was away?” Donghyuck glanced at the two figures standing by the lavishly decorated entrance. Mark easily recognized Jaemin, the servant who brought gold to his camp and barged into his chambers like he was to one who wore a crown atop of his snowy white hair. The other, a knight, remained a mystery.

When the younger prince easily threw his arm around Donghyuck’s shoulders, their height difference became more prominent and Mark couldn’t imagine this gangly boy with flushed cheeks to embody Donghyuck’s doom.

“I’m sure prince Jisung will be back to his usual self once he receives his gifts from the trip,” Taeyong said and the boy’s face broke into a grin.

“Cousin!”

The fall of the young prince’s – Jisung’s – shoulders was unmistakable once he went for a hug, only for Renjun’s unsubtle cough to sound through air. With a disappointed scowl he stood still, watching the duke as he bowed his head and offered a brightly ornamented sachet to the prince.

“Only the best of Aphelion Gardens for His Highness,” Taeyong said, biting on his lip when the prince peaked into the sachet, his face gleaming at the contents.

“Did you make these by yourself?” Jisung asked, prodding at the gift with his finger. His excitement only grew once the duke nodded and tied the sachet back into a knot. Even Donghyuck appeared amused, his eyebrow lifted and gaze directed at Mark who remained a silent observer from atop of his horse.

“Strawberry?” Jisung took the gift in his hands. Behind him, Renjun lifted his arm, shouting _Chenle_ , visibly displeased from the lack of protocol occurring before him. It brought Mark great satisfaction to witness Donghyuck’s servant flushed in a poor attempt of holding back and not snapping at everyone, including the princes. And as Jisung lifted his finger, glazed with something pink and syrupy, Renjun paled. Jisung smacked his lips, savoring the flavor.

“It is only to keep you away from the kitchen for some time, Your Highness. It’s been told your last attempt to reduplicate Aphelion’s tarts did not end well,” Taeyong smiled into his shoulder, making Jisung flush.

“Is that what they tell of me throughout the Southern Kingdom?” Jisung turned, his question meant for the servant boy running up his side. The servant’s chest heaved below his chiffon tunic, caramel hair disheveled with arrays of pearls laced through. Harshly, he tore the gift from the prince’s hands and packed it under his arm.

“Is it, Chenle?” the prince insisted and Mark saw Donghyuck step forward, weaving his arm around his brother’s forearm.

“If His Highness would prefer, we could always release word of the time you successfully boiled water for tea. “

A sharp tug on Jisung’s arm prevented him from speaking further. Soon, Mark found the two brothers before his horse, the younger of the two running his eyes, flowing like molten gold and so unlike Donghyuck’s, over his stallion and weapons bound in tattered leather.

“My retribution and your salvation,” Donghyuck said, gently pushing away bangs from Jisung’s eyes. “Two brave desert knights – Mark and Jeno.”

From the corner of his eye, Mark saw Jeno draw back in his seat like he was about to bow his head in the princes’ presence, all warm blue hues of bellflowers, except he shied away and turned so to face Mark, waiting. Never in his life did he imagine a soon-to-be Sun King would call him a knight, and all that in the presence of faces clad in white silk and shiny armors, offspring of the man whose blood still remained scorched on Mark’s scimitar.

“May I, Ser Mark?” Jisung said and the outlaw glanced down to see the prince reach with his hand for the weapon hanging from his belt. 

Donghyuck must have noticed Mark’s intense stare and the way his fingers itched to grip the weapon. Never did anyone, not even his comrades, dare to ask something as grave as examining or even touching his scimitar. But now this gangly child, that looked like he was brought up in shades of willows and fed sugary treats his entire life, offered his hands that still held traces of strawberry syrup.

With a grimace, his eyes widened after pink fingertips left sticky marks on the scabbard.

“Have you ever seen something like this, Hyuck?” Jisung said, amazed, while he flipped the weapon in his hands. He staggered over to Jeno, Mark’s scimitar held captive under his arm. “Do all the desert knights carry weapons like this? May I see yours, Ser Jeno? And your robes! How interesting.”

As Jeno tripped over his words, the younger prince calling excitedly for him to dismount his horse and show the mythical woodcut on his spear, Mark braced. Because Donghyuck’s eyes never wavered from him, peeling a layer after layer, until there was nothing left but his heart in Donghyuck’s palm, withering away with each beat.

Willingly, Mark surrendered.

“He is a child,” Mark whispered to Donghyuck while they guided them into the castle. The cheers after Donghyuck entered the hallway drowned out Mark’s words for only the prince to hear. Jeno and Donghyuck’s servants followed close.

“A child about to take my throne from me.”

“A child that is also your brother,” Mark hissed, about to grab Donghyuck by his forearm until he remembered the array of swords lined up behind his back. Mark might have been an excellent fighter, but he never heard of anyone single-handedly taking an entire royal army, all while intoxicated with bitter love.

Donghyuck’s mouth quirked upwards, eyes widening in pretend wonder. “You think I’d kill my own brother for the throne?”

Mark shook his head, eyes cast downwards. His feet left soiled patterns on the rug brought out in the honor of the prince’s return.

“But?”

“But I think you’d want me to do it for you.”

A thunderous laughter, all spine-curving and flushed cheeks, rumbled through the hall. Donghyuck, with tears prickling the corner of his eyes, patted Mark on the head, ignoring how everyone in the court stared at them.

“Would you do it if I asked you?”

Long fingers curled around Mark’s hand, pressing into his palm.

“No.”

Donghyuck’s eyes darkened. His grip loosened when Renjun approached them, whispering something in the prince’s ear that Mark couldn’t comprehend. Finally, he nodded and Renjun returned to his spot behind the prince.

With their arms linked, Donghyuck pulled Mark forward. He nearly stumbled in his step, grabbing onto Donghyuck for support.

“Come on now. They’re waiting for us.”

They left Jeno and Renjun to wait outside.

“Only those of the higher ranks can enter,” Donghyuck had said as he dragged Mark toward the Senate Hall. The images pressed into glass, akin to ones in the duke’s castle, flashed before Mark in shades of silver and gold. Kings and queens alike, brought up from white marble, guarded the halls with their faces frozen in eternal pathos. “And as far as they’re concerned, you lead an army of fifty thousand and were the one to free me from the enemy camp after they’ve killed my father.”

Mark frowned, trying to escape from Donghyuck’s hold. He wasn’t sure if there were even that many grains in the desert.

“And how do I prove to them this exactly?”

“No reason to do so,” Donghyuck bit his lips, turning his head to glance at his two guards following them at a safe distance. “Like anyone could dispute you. You’ve killed everyone who was there, after all. _Remember_?”

Of course Mark remembered. He’d do it again if it meant he could have Donghyuck shriveling on his knees as Mark ran a bloodied thumb over the prince’s lip, painting it pomegranate red, and Donghyuck throwing his head in heaved delight, daring Mark to fall from his grace. To close hands around his throat and chant prayers in his ear.

They came to a halt. A warm trickle of air graced Mark’s ear, Donghyuck’s bare fingers tracing the lobe, disappearing into his hair.

“They call it the lions’ den in there. I wonder if you will feel at home.”

“Only if you’re there,” Mark said weakly the same time the prince guided his lips, lost, to his own.

“Always.”

They kissed before the grand Senate door, ancestral figures watching with pale eyes as the heir to the royal throne sneaked his tongue into the mouth of some barbarian, obscenely moaning, permitting to be thrown against the door and pinned by his hips. Translucent jewels tangled into Donghyuck’s hair when Mark pulled on it, bright as the sun painted over the Senate door. Small hands clung onto the back of Mark’s tunic.

Choking on pleasure, Mark took Donghyuck’s face in his hand and pulled away slightly, enough to stare back at himself through Donghyuck’s blown pupils. For all he’s known the prince, forced him to kneel and beg, Mark’s never seen him this desperate. Like he’d die if Mark wouldn’t let him tear through with blunt nails on his spine, take him in for all he was, a shell brimmed with Donghyuck’s existence.

In a moment where all went still except for the prince’s chest falling and rising against his own, Donghyuck sneaked one hand behind his back. The door fell open and Mark braced Donghyuck’s shoulder, pulling the prince in to keep him from tumbling onto the floor.

Mark felt Donghyuck grin into his shoulder.

“Gentlemen, sorry we’ve kept you waiting.”

“What is the meaning of this!” a voice roared and Mark had to look away from Donghyuck’s disheveled head to a room full of curious faces, most of them painted in utter horror. One in particular, that looked nothing but fuming, stood out from the crowd. Mark believed the voice belonged to him.

“Procedure,” Donghyuck answered simply, untangling himself from Mark. He fixed the tiara on his head with delicate fingers and stepped ahead, into the circular area.

Mark’s hand lingered in mid-air, warm from where it pressed into Donghyuck’s waist, tongue swollen and thick like honeycombs in his mouth. It took no more than a blink for the feeling to dissolve in his chest like a sugar cube, the shame hitting him with flames licking his insides and dark spots swarming into his vision – he, an outlaw with nothing but dirt under his fingernails, humped the leg of an heir to the Southern Kingdom, like a dog in heat, before the Royal Senate. The same Senate that feasted on each bit of Donghyuck’s profane soul, indulging in his every sin like it was theirs, only so they could tear the crown from his hands.

Mark felt faint. Instinctively, he looked for his scimitar, the urge to reach for something familiar exceeding now that Donghyuck was away. 

Gritting his teeth, Mark watched the scene unfold - men, mostly old and grey with purple mantles draped over their shoulders, scattered to their seats so to make room for the prince, all save for the one, still red in face, who circled his chair and went to meet Donghyuck. Oddly enough, he seemed the youngest amongst all.

“Senator Taeil,” Donghyuck said, his voice forever patient, “thank you for not starting the council without us.”

The senator frowned, his eyes jumping from Donghyuck’s to Mark’s secluded form. “We were unaware of your arrival.”

“That’s odd, I was sure I sent a raven. After all, how could I miss the annunciation of your interregnum?” Donghyuck turned and Mark, shockingly, realized the prince was signaling for him to step forward. “I’ve even brought a guest from afar to witness your glory, _interrex_.”

The room broke into clamor, senators pointing at Mark and craning their necks so to better inspect this newcomer in black robes, the one guilty of the prince’s bruised lips and unlaced neckline.

“Let them see you better, commander. Come.”

Lifting his chin, Mark allowed the scarf to slip from his face, slitting over his shoulders like a serpent. With the senators preying around him, jittery on their marble benches, he crossed the mosaic floor. He came to a stop only when he could feel tension radiating from the young senator, leaning back with teeth bared like a cornered animal. He held tightly on his purple mantle.

One glance upwards, to where the rest of the senators huddled and Donghyuck’s approving smirk proved only one thing - they were afraid of him. And Mark relished in the renowned feeling.

Donghyuck gestured to one of the empty seats, below the senators’ rows, and Mark gladly took it, stretching his legs before him. He leaned forwards, elbows situated on his knees. With a sigh, Mark suppressed the jitter in his leg. He refused them the pleasure of sensing his uneasiness, itching to break through.

“Please, go on. Don’t let our presence disturb you,” Donghyuck took the seat next to Mark.

Only one chair remained, right behind the perplexed senator. Mark guessed it most likely belonged to the interrex as it stood at the centre of the room, right above the glassy sun molted into the floor. The same golden star hung off the senator’s neck, supported by a thick chain and reaching the mid of his sternum. Unlike the rest, only he bore the heavy-looking ornament. It was the same sun Donghyuck sometimes wore on his hand and Taeyong in his hair.

The same sun Mark had brandished into his altar.

“Senator Taeil,” someone called from the audience and that seemed to bring the said man to his senses. He blinked, taking the pendant in his hand. His gaze was lost in the white light breaking through the stained glass.

“War is ahead of us, gentlemen,” he began and to Mark it sounded like Donghyuck’s story sold to his men back at the camp, “war we wage against our gods.” 

The young senator raised his arms towards the heavens painted on the ceiling, warm blues and corals cast shining brightly. Everyone followed the motion except Donghyuck, whose gaze remained firmly on the pendant dangling over the senator’s chest.

“What war? We’d never turn on the gods!” a voice from the audience yelled, earning a round of approval from the rest.

“We wouldn’t. But your future king would!” he exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at Donghyuck. Mark quickly glanced at him, but Donghyuck remained unfazed, face motionless like the statues of his ancestors. “While away, His Royal Highness ignored his sacred duties. I’ve received reports that the solar gates have remained closed now when offerings haven’t been made in weeks. The priests are begging for something to be done!”

“How is this possible?”

“How will we make it through winter?”

“The peasants say they haven’t seen a harvest as poor as this one in years. People are starving because the gods are angry!” Taeil finished off, forcing some of the senators to break into pathetic wails. “You will be our doom, prince Donghyuck.”

Shocked at the blunt accusation, Mark felt Donghyuck’s shoulders tremble, rubbing against his own. The thought of Donghyuck’s chest quivering with sobs broke into Mark’s mind and he turned, concerned, only to witness Donghyuck grin poorly hidden behind his palm. His shoulders shook in nothing but a quiet laugh.

“Fools,” he said to Mark, clever eyes crinkling in delight. “To think they know why the gods are angry. Only I do.”

With that, he rose to his feet. The room fell back into silence.

“As you prattle about nonexistent troubles, senator Taeil, a real war threatens to turn our kingdom into ash and dirt. My men tell me of earl Jaehyun riding through the vassal land, taking in refugees from the last war and making alliances even with the outside tribes.” Donghyuck glared at his opponent when he crossed arms over his chest, covering the sun pendant with the wide sleeves of his robes.

Somehow, the senators sounded less concerned with Donghyuck’s words than the potential wrath of miraculous forces lurking above them. Still, some pressed him to continue.

“That’s why I brought you a warrior from afar who’s familiar with their style of battles,” Donghyuck said and Mark’s heart raced wildly when the meaning behind Donghyuck’s words dawned upon him. The pleasure of having fresh blood on his scimitar excited him more than their most recent kiss did. 

“But to appease your fears, our annual secular games will be held in two days.”

“But it’s too soon!” Taeil snapped, his arms falling by his side. The redness of his cheeks matched the fiery hues of his hair, but Donghyuck only grinned, proud of his idea. “And who are you to make decisions on religious matters? It’s up to the Holy Council-“

“There is no need for that, senator!” Donghyuck’s entire body shuddered with the breath swelling in his chest. He took measured steps, the heels of his shoes echoing against the marble ground. His fingers traced the sun claimed by Taeil’s title.

“I was crowned by the gods, not the council. My power, senators, is divine.”

Mark stared at himself in the cracked mirror. Water droplets glistened on his face, dripping down his neck, damping the collar of his shirt. His sunken eyes glared back at him, tinged with pity, like through one of those optical toys his father would bring him from his trips – bits of painted glass rotating with tiny geometrical designs, hypnotizing, shades of bright colors shaped like wildflowers and stars. Only now it was grey and ocean greens, as if they were drawn from shallow pits of Mark’s soul and painted across his skin.

If Johnny were here, he’d most likely tell him he looked sick; he’d send Mark to his tent and tell him to rest for the day. Maybe even send Yuta off to scout if he was kind enough, spare him the general’s complaints during that one day. And now – now, he was not sure if this hollow feeling in his chest and ache in his muscles even had a cure. The pile of pillows and furs the servants so carefully arranged on the bed wouldn’t soothe him, not when Mark knew he’d wake up the next day and the scar on his palm would still be there, words soaked in honey clogged in his throat with Donghyuck’s sweet tongue.

A quiet knock resounded, forcing Mark to look away from the mirror.

“Come in,” he called, his voice sounding like it didn’t belong to him.

Jeno must have noticed that too, because concern flourished so easily in his brown orbs. He stepped over the threshold, spear forever attached to his hand.

“Your room is much nicer than mine,” the guard said, stopping by the door once he’d shut it.

“I haven’t really paid much attention to it.” And he didn’t, really, not now when he’d witnessed a silent war being announced between Donghyuck and the court. The worst type of war - the one where blood would get spilled without anyone drawing their weapon, a war where Mark was sure to lose. A war only Donghyuck knew how to play.

“Did- did you know,” Mark rubbed a hand over his face, turning to face Jeno, “Doyoung and Jaehyun formed an alliance.”

“ _Oh_ “

“I don’t think they’ll try to go through the mountains, but we should still notify Johnny about this. I can’t predict their next step, not from here.”

“Actually, I think it would be good to start from here,” Jeno shrugged his shoulders, and Mark finally got to look at him properly, taking in his change of uniform – his standard black tunic and wool cape replaced with more formal linen shirt, tucked loosely into leather pants. He easily recognized the outfit as the one he wore at the reception back at their camp, the day Donghyuck had decided to grace them with his presence and turn their lives into living hell.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that you have most of your sources here.”

“First of all, my men are not here.”

“You have me!” Jeno pouted, earning an eye roll from his commander. “Well, you have the entire royal army at your service, if that’s what really concerns you. But, look at it this way - how would we even know about their alliance if we stayed in the desert?”

Mark considered his words. Then, he shook his head. “I am sure Jaehyun would come to me with the same offer.”

“Not after you’ve decided to attack Doyoung’s men at the mountains.”

Mark felt anger, hot and boiling, at the pit of his stomach. “Yet I am sure he knows I stopped the royal army in the desert and killed the Sun Ki-,” he bit his tongue once the silence of the room got to him, his voice cutting through the midnight stillness.

He recognized the pity he saw in his eyes grace Jeno’s own soft brown ones.

“They can smell blood pretty fast, you know?” Jeno looked down at his feet, fiddling the spear in his hands. His voice grew timid, blending with the night.

“Who can?”

“Anyone. Anyone who wants the throne.” Jeno was looking back at him again, his brows furrowed and mouth slightly agape, like he struggled with words to pick. “No matter if it’s the one on your palm or on your weapon.”

“I don’t know-“ Mark stuttered, gnawing on his lip. He was right – Jeno, that is. They knew and they might as well be after him, now that he’s left a trace of royal blood leading to his door, dragging it through sand and snow and unknown kingdoms.

“Thankfully, they’d have to go through me first,” Jeno’s furrow was gone, a more ardent look to his face, spear tucked under his arm. “I’ll keep the watch tonight.”

Without a word, Mark nodded. He waited for Jeno to leave the room as he grabbed the nearest light source, a dusty candleholder by his bedside, and placed it on the desk right below the windowsill. The northern wind shook the glass, waking the castle walls from their slumber.

Stumbling on some empty parchment in the drawers, Mark sat down and began writing.

The first thing Mark felt when he woke up was the soaring pain in his neck. Then, the warm breath on his ear.

“ _Lion_ ,” the voice, all minty and fresh, giggled, grazing the skin of his lobe with soft lips, “wake up.”

Mark’s head snapped up, his neck painfully cracking with the movement. In an instant, his hand was on his scimitar, ready to be drawn out and find a new scabbard in some unfortunate man’s guts.

A flash of something white and delicate, like petals of daisies embroidered in the canopy above Mark’s bed, stopped him from surging forward. Tugging his eyes from the silk material piled on the floor, higher and over more coats of white lace and sheer sleeves, to a braid of ivory ribbons tangled in equally light hair, Mark flushed at the recognition.

“Good morning,” Jaemin grinned, coral pink lips stretching into a grin.

“ _You_ ,” Mark groaned, pressing his eyes with the heel of his palms, “what do you want?”

“Your presence is required by His Royal Highness,” Jaemin said, stepping away from Mark. Wide sleeves danced around him, leaving silver dust to float in air whenever he’d lift his arms to fix the satin ribbons twirled around his neck.

“What time is it?”

“It’s nearly noon,” the servant raised an amused eyebrow when Mark jumped from his seat, turning around aimlessly.

“I must have passed out last night while writing – oh _no_ ,” Mark took the half-written letter, scanning his eyes over the smudged ink. Most of it, now, on his face. “I need to send out these right now.”

“Not while looking like _that,_ ” Jaemin pointed to Mark’s crumpled uniform, remnants of wary trips pressed into his stained tunic and muddy boots. “While I am aware that you are our guest, there are still certain customs you must adapt to while here. Men would kill to have our prince look at them the way he looks at you, while you dare to greet him with sand in your hair.”

Mark disregarded the sharp thump of his heart, fragile as wings of a nightingale, in a favor of scowling at Jaemin’s last remark. “If I remember correctly, he didn’t mind the sand last time I-“

“I will pretend I didn’t hear that,” Jaemin’s smile tightened. He grabbed Mark’s forearm, with more strength than he showed in his graceful step and bony wrists, turning him towards the pile of clothes that Mark was certain weren’t there last night.

“Pick something you like. I’ll wait for you outside. His Highness is expecting you and we still haven’t decided on your discipline.”

“Discipline?” Mark blinked. “For what?”

Jaemin’s smile grew again, sharp and serpent behind the pink of his lips.

“The games, of course.”

Jaemin was anything but impressed when Mark appeared in something that only appeared to be a clean version of his old clothes, all black save for a lion pin saving the top of his shirt from unbuttoning. Next to the servant, Jeno drew his eyes towards the marble tiles, drawing infinite patterns on the castle floor with the heel of his boot. Sometimes during the night he must have replenished his old scarf, as it was thrown loosely over his shoulders. The hallway lay casted in dim afternoon light, but Mark was sure he saw traces of silver glitter on Jeno’s scarf.

Jaemin coughed in his fist. “Follow me. And don’t forget to bow when we meet the prince.”

Once the servant had walked far enough that it seemed like he couldn’t hear them, Mark pulled Jeno in with a tight grip on his sleeve.

“Where have you been?” he hissed, taking in Jeno’s unruly hair and cheeks smeared with pink.

“What do you mean?”

“You told me you’d watch the door!”

“But I did!” Jeno gasped when Mark’s grip tightened.

“Then how does _he_ -“ Mark pointed at their guide with his thumb,”- always manage to pass by you?”

“He told me he carried the prince’s orders and that I need to obey him since we are on prince Donghyuck’s territory and- _what_?”

Jeno’s voice wavered when he recognized the shadow falling over Mark’s face, sculpted from iron, carrying many battles they fought side by side. He’d only seen this look on Mark once the enemy would try to pierce through his ribs with a dull blade and Mark’s eye would turn red like the blood moon over the desert. Only at the men that would try to kill him, not Jeno.

“Remember where your loyalties lay, warrior.”

He drew back his hand from Jeno, hurrying after the servant, a pang in his chest high, high, suffocating.

Because, indeed, where did _his_ loyalties lay?

The head of the royal guard was anything but what Mark imagined.

He greeted the outlaw with a grin brighter than one Jaemin wore, unmatched even to the polished brass armor clasped over his chest and back. An outstandingly rich crest, shaped like two wings, fell from the sides of his helmet and onto his shoulders. In his life, Mark’s never seen anything less practical or more ridiculous than it. The royal army he fought at the desert bore only thin leather plates and fear in their bloodshot eyes, yet this man flaunted with more riches than the merchants from the East did.

“Mark, meet Yukhei,” Donghyuck spoke from the far end of the round table, “he is the head of the royal guard and your most trusted companion when we’re in this room.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” the guard said, taking off his pompadour helmet and revealing silvery hair, all siderous and glowing like he carried the weight of the luminescent sky in it.

Beside him, his prince, messenger of the dawn, picked on loose threads of his sheer shirt, wrapping his skin in an armor of silk and sunrise hues. He raised his uninterested gaze to Mark, inspecting him from the bruised neckline to the untied laces of his boots. With his mind clouded, Mark’s body urged to shrink under the obsidian stare.

“Jaemin, shut the door,” he ordered. Mark watched as the servant obeyed Donghyuck’s word with a curt nod, instructing Jeno to step into the room before allowing the wooden construction to slam after him, dusting sprouting in the thin rays of light peeking through the uneven gaps.

Other than them, only Renjun’s and Taeyong’s faces sparked familiarity, one looming behind Donghyuck like a ghostly shadow, the other seated comfortably with his legs crossed and mismatched eyes crinkling in delight at the sight of Mark. Everyone else, crowned heads with scepters and swords in their hands, remained lined on the walls, watching over them, spirits of Donghyuck’s past.

“Now that we’re all here, I’d like to discuss the days before us,” Donghyuck said, leaning back in his chair.

Mark shifted his attention from the prince and his attendants towards the impressive replica of the amphitheatre, placed at the centre of the table, its colossal walls and marble frieze imprinted into Mark’s memory ever since he’d admired them from the entrance of the Capital. Whoever created it, they made sure to even mold tiny figures of the Sun pantheon that adorned the arena ring.

Particular attention raised silver cages placed on the opposite sides of the circular area, right under the king’s loge. Somehow, Mark knew they weren’t meant to stay empty, the faint smell of iron irking his senses.

A pile of grey figures, their faces blurred, all the same except one, got thrown next to the model. With thin fingers, clad in white gloves, Donghyuck picked a figure that carried a tiny white crown and placed it into the king’s loge. Two more, similar in shape, though crownless, joined the other one.

“Me, my brother and senator Taeil. The rest of the senators will gather in the east wing. Do we have any news from earl Sicheng?”

“The earl expresses his gratitude for allowing him to join such a sacred event. I will personally go to welcome him early in the morning,” Jaemin said with hands clasped over his front, cast in wide silk sleeves. His usual expressive features were replaced with something graver, more formal.

“And the house Xiao?”

Jaemin’s lips pressed into a thin line, causing Donghyuck to raise an eyebrow at him. From behind the prince, the other servant cleared his throat.

“I’m afraid we haven’t received a reply from earl Dejun,” Renjun explained, his eyes lowered. “We take this as a sign that he-“

“That he’s already picked his side,” Jaemin finished.

At that, the room went quiet, save for the noise coming from the hall; servants going back and forth, shouting orders at one another. And amongst all, Mark was the only one who looked confused, grasping onto names and titles being thrown with calculated words.

Right here, amidst painted ancestors and political intrigues, their worlds turned the most unfamiliar to Mark. With its jewels and plush capes cast away, only a famished mantis remained, clawing on their ambitions. Yet, in this court, she was never starving. Her ribs beneath layered coats of flesh; always sated, always asking for more.

And, generous souls, they never stopped giving.

“Are we all going to pretend as we’re surprised?” Taeyong straightened in his seat, his palm clasped over his cheek. He offered Donghyuck a condescending look. “In all fairness, the earl’s family has never taken any interest in doing what’s best for the Southern Kingdom. Only personal gain, something I’m sure Jaehyun is able to provide.”

Renjun scowled. “To think royal blood is meddling with the barbaric tribes now. First earl Jaehyun, now house Xiao and who knows if next-”

“-his royal highness might be,” Mark offered, pleased with the sudden attention glared his way.

“Clever Lion,” Donghyuck smirked, “quick on his tongue just as his sword. Thankfully, he will have a chance to prove to us the might of his wits.”

“Your Highness, if we could go back to, uh,” the head of the royal guard hesitated, his caramel orbs scurrying from Mark to Donghyuck, seated on the opposite sides of the table.

“Of course,” Donghyuck replied calmly, eyes lingering on the outlaw, encasing him in darkness. He took a grey figure and placed it next to his, right in the main loge. “Yukhei, you will stay with me all throughout the spectacle. As for our guest,” a golden lion, a replica of the pin on Mark’s shirt, slipped from Donghyuck’s palm and into the centre of the arena, “he will do us an honor of opening the games.”

“But Your Highness-“ Renjun tried to cut in, except his voice faltered with Donghyuck’s next words.

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet your champion.”

_My most loyal companion,_

_A poisonous alliance is about to contaminate the ground we sleep on. Don’t move from your current position until we hear more of Doyoung and earl Jaehyun’s plans. I will notify you of our next move._

_I’m uncertain of my fate at this court. As of now, my heart’s been put at the centre of the arena and my only opponent is the boy with eyes as hell rivers, holding thousands of souls, but not one as despised by him as mine is._

_If you don’t receive a letter from me by the next new moon, then the gods have decided my fate._

_Mark_

His Highness has been kind enough to organize a bath for him, it had been said as the servants escorted Mark to the bath house, enveloped with marble pillars, mosaics made of river pebbles and white steam.

Mark let the water drown his senses, the clear surface reaching up to his nose. Orchids mixed with something citrusy, like oranges, danced around in the air. After all, it would be humiliating to have a barbarian, who smelled like sand and blazed sun, to open something as sacred as the secular games. Like he wouldn’t be covered in blood from head to toe, baring his teeth at whatever they might put against him.

“Is the bath to your liking?” Donghyuck’s voice was like the water, soothing and vicious at the same time, ready to drag Mark to the murky bottoms, suffocating, ethereal beauty beneath the moonlight overflowing like the tide.

His body adorned a simple robe, red with painted wildflowers sprouting from his sleeves. He lowered to his knees, right next to the large bath, legs folded beneath his thighs and slightly parted. The beautiful fabric fell around him and Mark learned he wore nothing underneath.

“Very much so, Your Highness.” Mark said, turning his head from Donghyuck. “Although, I wasn’t aware of this custom where the sacrificial animal is given a proper treatment before slaughter. Where I come from, we just grab it by the neck and slice its throat.”

Donghyuck’s hand on him was gentle, tracing the scar from his collarbone and over his shoulder. Desperately, Mark fought a shudder.

“You dwell in unknown land now. We practice different customs here.”

“I see,” Mark hummed, feigning disinterest when Donghyuck brushed the wet strands of his hair behind a flushed ear. “And I guess next is filling its stomach with favorite delicacies. Passing away on an empty stomach sounds like a horrible death.”

“Of course.”

“Is that why you’re here now? In your flimsy robe, offering yourself to me like a common whore-“

Mark hissed when a sharp tug on his hair caused his head to jerk back, soul pierced with Donghyuck’s eyes staring directly at his own. They were hidden underneath a curtain of lavender strands, reflecting the barrenness of Donghyuck’s soul.

“I could crush you beneath my heel if I’d want. Prove to you that you’re no desert lion, but a plain scarab.” Donghyuck’s grip on Mark’s hair tightened. Mark dared with a lopsided grin.

“Then why don’t you?”

“The gods do not wish for you to die, not yet.”

“You’re lying.”

The prince’s face was much closer now. Their breaths tangled in the space between their lips, fading into the steam.

“What is the real reason I’m here, Your Highness? How am I any different from all the men falling before your feet? All the ones who promised you to build kingdom upon kingdom, to wage wars just to have your tiny hummingbird heart beat for them?”

Donghyuck’s face burned as the most delicate rose in the garden, one that bloomed under careful hands and the soothing voice of her owner. His skin was hot, cheek pressed against Mark’s own. With Mark’s hands on his shoulders, supporting him, the red robe faded into his skin.

“You want my heart to beat for you, Lion?”

“Doesn’t it already?”

Donghyuck gasped, pulling Mark out of the water so he could whisper next to his ear. The robe fell open on his front, baring wet chest in hues of gold.

“You want to know why, Lion?” His words raised shivers, Donghyuck’s skin like the sun but voice unmatched to the harshest winters.

“Not one of them has offered me my father’s head.”

On the morning of the games the sky was grey.

A few drops landed on Mark’s cheek, but it didn’t pour the way some predicted. However, Mark shivered in his light tunic, reaching his mid-thigh, beautifully embroidered with a gold thread and embodying holy temples with its design. The servants threw a black cape over his shoulders, pinned with two rayed solar symbols, crafted from the same material as the ivy bracelets around his biceps.

By custom, Jaemin had barged into his room once the servant girl was finished with clasping the bracelets.

“A gift from His Highness,” he said while placing a crown of gold laurels on his head. “He always keeps his promises. Now everything is up to you.”

“Me?”

“To triumph, _Lion_.”

A stage was set in the middle of the arena, built specially for the occasion. It was to be removed after the grand priest and interrex offered the traditional sacrifice of libation, the crimson wine staining their hands and the altar like blood oranges.

A cheer boomed through the arena, seats shaking with thunderous claps, when Taeil’s fingers dipped into the brass cups. He lifted his hands at the skies, the red liquid flowing down his forearms.

“The sky is a bad omen,” a young guard watching over Mark said. They were both huddled at one of the entrances to the arena, the boy clearly dissatisfied with the task given to him, especially with the cold wind whistling through the metal gate and breaths of winter sneaking into their lungs.

“What do you mean,” Mark asked, forcing a sigh out of the guard.

“Isn’t it obvious? They are honoring the Sun god yet he’s nowhere to be seen.“

Mark peeked through the bars, observing nothing but the lamenting skies. Like the great flaming star burned out, suffocating the skies in black smoke, the same one that twisted over Mark’s camp in the night of his great victory over Doyoung’s army. Suddenly, the reds on the trims of Taeil’s robes weren’t wine but rubies for eyes Mark dug out; and Donghyuck’s heart, tiny as a bird, reminiscence of sparrows torn in half with Mark’s sword.

“I think you are right,” Mark’s voice was quiet, quieter than the flap of sparrow wings, “so was the prince. A great war is upon us and I think the gods have chosen their sides.”

No one said anything after that, rather choosing to listen to a voice outside, welcoming all to the spectacle. A series of claps echoed against the colossal walls of the amphitheatre, their shouts calling for blood to be spilled – they were promised a spectacle, after all. The city whispered of a man from afar, a stranger with claws for hands that still held sand under them, who howled at the moon and fed on the prince’s soul.

“Is that what they tell of me?” Mark had asked Jeno who managed to sneak into his bedroom – he wasn’t allowed visitors, as per senators’ orders – and told him of the odd tales spread through the Capital.

“They also say you control the prince, that you’ve crawled underneath his skin. All of his decisions are yours.”

“How surprised they would be if they knew the truth.”

“Indeed.”

A creaking sound, piercing though his ears, brought Mark’s attention to the gates of his hideout being lifted. The sand below his feet was cold, unlike the one in the desert, even more so when he threw away the ivory sandals they gifted him. They were useless anyway - an accessory meant to turn him less barbaric and more into a willing sacrifice of the prince.

“They’re calling for you,” the guard said.

With nails drawing blood from the scar on his palm, Mark stepped into the scene.

They were chanting his name.

_Lion! Lion! Lion!_

Mark gripped the sword in his hand. It didn’t fit like his scimitar did, nothing could, but only the apricate sword that the priests have blessed could draw blood from the sacred beast.

Daringly, Mark lifted his head, taking in the vicious audience, the twisted turn of their mouths and money hurled from their hands towards the sandy grounds. A rain of silver coins fell over him, each missing Mark’s stunned form and ending up buried somewhere beneath his bare feet.

_Lion! Lion! Lion!_

A hopeless hero sought out the prince, his throbbing heart deafening him; the crowd with their voiceless shouts rising from their seats, throwing themselves over the fences so they could take a better look at the sinful heir of the Sun Imperator.

And Donghyuck, luminous in his beauty, rather paid attention to a flushed Renjun pushing through the guards so he could whisper something in the prince’s ear. Disruption coursed through the entire royal loge, causing Donghyuck to rise from his seat sharply and follow Renjun inside, away from the fuming gods and Mark’s triumph. Only Jeno remained there, observing everything with wide eyes. With a last audacious beat of his heart, Mark realized his guard wasn’t looking at him, nor was the frantic crowd.

The ground shook when a gate right below the royal seats opened and a deafening roar put the crowd’s shouts to shame. Mark’s own soul, savage and uncrowned, stared back at him from the clear eyes of the beast.

_Lion! Lion! Lion!_

It was never his name.

The cold air began to swirl around the amphitheatre, playing with the hairs and wool robes of the audience, caressing the carless youth away into the city where it melted into cheers of the festival.

Pushing through the market crowd, the smell of incense and spices, flashes of pearls and crystals sparkling in the sunlight, noise, chatter, merchants, thieves, laughter and stares of curious on-watchers followed a hooded figure until it reached a less crowded street. Soon after, a brown door, swinging off the rusty hinges, appeared before the man.

Knocking two times, he entered the homely store. Clear bottles filled up to brisk with mysterious liquids and labeled jars, half-open, turned the store into a makeshift temple dedicated to personal desires and forbidden gods.

The creaking of the old floorboards announced a man clad in dusty robes, an apron around his waist. He eyed the hooded customer from behind the counter, craning his head to the side slightly.

“Can I help you?”

“Umm, I talked with y-your partner the other day because of those uh,” the man hesitated, pulling down the hood until it reached the bridge of his nose. “About those-“

“Ten, he’s here,” the man behind the counter called to someone in the back.

“Tell him to come in,” a third voice spoke, distant and venomous.

“You heard it.”

With a slight stumble in his step, the hooded person passed the clerk, avoiding the amusement in his eyes, and reached a familiar room.

The person in there was well known, not just to him, given that his reputation preceded the kingdom borders. His good eye gave the newcomer a hard stare, the other one closed behind an ugly scar. Last time they met, the alchemist kept the scarred skin below layers of yellowing rags, but now the torn tissue resembled a ripe fig – swollen and meaty red.

“You’re late,” he spitted, turning his attention back at the boiling pot of water on his table. Basil and sage stuffed their senses, with no windows in the room to clear the air.

“I’m sorry, but it’s the day of the games. I couldn’t leave earlier.”

“I will be honest with you, my noble customer,” Ten raised his eyebrow, “I really don’t care about your excuses.”

“But-“

“But given that you’re all late today since, guess what, you wouldn’t be the first one to use the crowded streets for your unclean businesses, I’m just raising the price by fifty gold coins-“

In an instant, a tiny bag landed on the desk with a loud clink, making the alchemist reach for something in his pocket. The bottle he pulled out resembled those one would find on the perfumer’s stalls, handcrafted with a crescent moon in the place of a plain cap. Yet the liquid inside was anything but a sweet and flowery fragrance.

“A single drop would be enough.”

A gloved hand accepted the bottle, inspecting it.

“Will it be painful?”

Ten gave him a wicked grin, the scar deforming his face where his smile didn’t.

“It will, but I promise you – they won’t suspect a thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, the game begins
> 
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